


tie me to your fingertip (don't let me float away)

by diets0dasociety



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Ashton is a sunshine, Calum's a bit of a dick sometimes, Cashton - Friendship, Fluff, Luke and Michael are Luke and Michael honestly, M/M, Minor Character Death, Muke - Friendship, Pansexual Ashton, Pansexual Calum, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, Soulmate Tattoos, a little bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6931135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diets0dasociety/pseuds/diets0dasociety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate.</p><p>The world alone is enough to make Calum wretch. It’s a fine enough idea, sure – that somewhere out there is a person, just as oblivious as you, who’s destined to waltz into your life and make you happy forever – but it’s just an idea. A theory. Nobody knows how it works; nobody understands the tattoos. It’s just fate.</p><p>And, well, fate and Calum Hood aren’t exactly on good terms.</p><p> </p><p>or, the malum soulmate fic nobody was waiting for in which Calum and Ashton are sort of brothers and Luke and Michael keep popping up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tie me to your fingertip (don't let me float away)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm SO nervous to post this you have no idea. After six months of work, I present to you - the Malum soulmate fic. My longest fic to date and the source of many late nights. This started out as a fic in which Calum was a pizza delivery driver and Michael was in 5SOS and its wasn't even a soulmate!au. It has changed A LOT and the finished product is infinitely better. Also, I have a thing for writing Calum and Ashton as really good friends, I have no idea why but I like it so.
> 
> Title adapted from Airhead by Seaway, completing the trifecta of pop-punk song titles (check out my other stuff: plug). I listened to The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot by Brand New a lot writing the last "act" though so keep that in mind whilst reading all the angst.
> 
> Here we go! Please comment, leave kudos if you feel like it and let me know how it is. This is my absolute baby, and I'm glad you can all finally read it!

_Soulmate._

The world alone is enough to make Calum wretch. It’s a fine enough idea, sure – that somewhere out there is a person, just as oblivious as you, who’s destined to waltz into your life and make you happy forever – but it’s just an idea. A theory. Nobody knows how it works; nobody understands the tattoos. It’s just fate.

 

And, well, fate and Calum Hood aren’t exactly on good terms.

 

**\- 0 -**

 

Calum managed to make it through six years of life without knowing a single damn thing about _soulmates_ or _ostenderes_ or _grandescos._ Sure, he’d heard kids in his class talk about their mummy and daddy’s pretty matching pictures, but Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were far more interesting so he never really cared enough to pay attention.

 

In fact, Calum never really cared enough about _anything_ to pay attention. That is, until the universe threw Ashton fucking Irwin at him.

 

Ashton fucking Irwin was a six-year-old ball of sunshine and rainbows and everything pure in the world. He was the model child; smart enough to be caring and polite but young enough to know of nothing bad that had ever existed. Within a minute of walking into that nauseatingly colourful classroom, every teacher, student and parent absolutely adored the kid. Except Calum, of course. Calum didn’t really care enough to pay attention.

 

Which is why, to this day, Calum fails to understand why Miss Lovell had decided that he would be the perfect break-time buddy to show Ashton around. Ashton likes to call it fate. Calum prefers to call it fucking annoying.

 

Somehow, the two became inseparable. Calum isn’t sure whether he blames Ashton’s incessant leech-like friendship tactics or the TMNT backpack he _just so happened_ to have spare that was promised to Calum if only he agreed to go to Ashton’s house for turkey dinosaurs that Friday. Calum flat out refused. There was no fucking way he’d willingly spend time outside of school with Ashton, even for an admittedly really, _really_ cool TMNT backpack. Not in a million years.

 

(Calum caved in two weeks later. The turkey dinosaurs were the best he’s ever tasted, the TMNT backpack’s straps fell off only a month later. Ashton promised to get them fixed if Calum came over for more turkey dinosaurs. It became a weekly occurrence.)

 

It was during the fourth weekly turkey dinosaur day (TDD, as Ashton liked to call them) that it all went downhill. Calum was stuttering through a painfully long anecdote about his favourite episode of SpongeBob, flailing arms and goofy voices included, when Mrs. Irwin burst into the kitchen, rushing to sit beside a very confused Ashton. Calum paused mid-sentence, lowering his hands back down to his lap and staring wildly at Ashton, who apparently had just as much idea as to what was going as Calum if the look of panic was anything to go by.

 

“Sweetie…” Mrs. Irwin, or Anne as Calum eventually came to know her, spoke softly and quietly, running a hand through her son’s hair as she spoke. “Sweetie, you might have to say goodbye to your friend now.”

Calum, having just enough six-year-old sense to know that this was a conversation he shouldn’t really be involved in, simply lowered his gaze. Ashton, however, was less submissive.

 

“No, mummy. Cal hasn’t finished his turkey dinosaurs; he can’t go home yet. And-and you got us nice ice cream and I promised Cally we could have some so he can’t go home. Sorry, mummy.” Ashton then patted his mum’s hand, in a way that only Ashton fucking Irwin could without coming off like a snotty little brat, and continued to eat his turkey dinosaurs.

 

“Ash, your cousin Brody got his pretty colours.”

 

And Calum had no fucking clue what that meant. It sounded pretty girly, so he did the only thing he thought he could – chose not to care enough to pay attention. He _did_ care enough, however, to pay attention to the absolutely ridiculous sound that erupted from the boy sitting opposite him. If he had to describe it in a life or death situation, he’d probably say the boy squealed. But that was an understatement like no other understatement.

 

Ashton sounded like a fucking kettle. He squealed and he whined and he giggled in that annoying little high pitched six-year-old voice that had, for some reason, become irritatingly endearing to Calum. If he didn’t know any better, Calum would think Ashton was in a very severe, very life threatening amount of pain, but the dazzling grin that adorned the boy’s face was hard to miss.

 

“CALLYI’MSORRYYOUHAVETOGOHOMENOWBYEBYECALLYSEEYOUATSCHOOOL!”

 

Calum barely had time to register that Ashton had moved before the curly haired bundle of energy was tugging his sweater and leading him towards the door. Within seconds, he was stood on the doorstep watching as Ashton shut him outside the house, hearing his muffled voice excitedly ask his mum if they could “go see the pretty colours.” Calum didn’t really care about the pretty colours anymore. Calum didn’t really even care that he’d only eaten one of his three turkey dinosaurs. Calum just kind of wanted to go home.

 

(Luckily, Calum lived exactly three houses away from Ashton and so he made it home in less than two minutes. Mrs. Hood was still completely outraged that Mrs. Irwin had let her _poor, precious baby_ walk _all the way home_ by himself; Mrs. Irwin was nothing but apologetic and invited the other mother over for lasagne as a gesture of goodwill. The two became fast friends.)

 

The next day at school, Calum was alone. When he still couldn’t see Ashton’s excited smile by the time class was meant to start, he stayed outside for an extra ten minutes. He didn’t want Ashton to have to walk in alone, after all. But soon Miss Lovell came to find him, and Calum was dragged into school, alone and confused.

 

Calum soon discovered that school wasn’t as fun without Ashton. He tried to play TMNT, but he wasn’t as good at being Michelangelo as Ashton was. He tried to finish his multiplication square, but Ashton usually did his four-times-tables for him. Admittedly, he finished his English work pretty quickly – but he still missed laughing at the way Ashton drew little flowers instead of full stops (“You’re such a girl, Ash.” “Cally, flowers aren’t _just_ for girls.”)

 

So when the bumbling golden haired six-year-old that was so very badly missed stumbled into the playground at lunchtime, Calum couldn’t really help the running cuddle that ensued. Or the ridiculous grin on his face when he pulled away.

 

“HI ASH WHERE WERE YOU I REALLY MISSED YOU WE DID MATHS AND I WASN’T VERY GOOD YOU NEED TO HELP ME AGAIN-“

 

He was interrupted by an excitable giggle from the boy in front of him, who held his head high in the air as he answered (which turned out to be a habit. Calum thought it made him look like a pompous little git, Ashton though it looked dramatic).

 

“ _Well_ , Cally, I was out really, really late last night so mummy let me miss this morning. But I’m here now! And I wanna talk about pretty colours.”

 

In their short friendship, Calum had learnt that when Ashton Irwin wanted something, Ashton Irwin got it. That wasn’t to say he was spoilt, quite the opposite in fact; his sheer youthful determination made it impossible for him not to achieve everything his heart desired. And so, if Ashton wanted to talk about the pretty colours, Calum had no option but to listen.

 

The conversation was rushed and quiet, consisting mostly of strange little anecdotes about Ashton’s family that Calum really wasn’t too interested in, but the lopsided grin on the curly-haired boy’s face kept him hooked anyway. An hour later and Calum still wasn’t all too bothered about the pretty colours that had Ashton so fascinated, that is, until one particular quiet confession.

 

“Mummy says you only know you really like someone when you get their pretty colours, but they’ve got to get them too.”

 

And, well, that seemed pretty fair to a six-year-old Calum Hood. He suddenly sort of cared about the pretty colours that had Ashton so excited, in a strangely nonchalant and passive way. For the first time in his short years, Calum decided that this whole soulmate thing was maybe worth paying attention to. And so, when the time came for school to end, Calum waved Ashton goodbye with a toothy little grin and set off to find his mum with a mind full of questions and eyes full of determination.

 

When Joy Hood found her son that afternoon, the barrage of innocent inquisition that followed nearly took her breath away. Two minutes, several _shhh_ s and a couple of gentle shoves later, Calum was in the car and babbling away about pretty colours and _“Mummy, can you show me yours?”_ Calum didn’t notice the way his mum had stiffened up and stopped talking. Calum didn’t really pay enough attention to care.

 

Calum only started to care when, two hours and three cups of milk later, he noticed his mum’s glossy eyes and faltering voice as she explained the soulmate system. He cared when she wiped her cheeks and coughed, in a way that mums weren’t meant to because mums aren’t allowed to be sad and really Calum didn’t even know his mum could cry. In his innocence, he crept round the table and plonked onto her lap, clumsily joining in wiping her cheeks and whispering _“I love you, Mummy, don’t be sad.”_ and _“You don’t need to show me anymore, Mummy.”_

 

Joy Hood’s soulmate tattoo wasn’t really anything like Ashton had made out, Calum thought. For starters, there was only a _teeny tiny_ bit of colour under one of the knots in the bow, and the rest was solid and black and kind of sad to Calum.

 

“Mummy, Ash told me they were pretty colours.”

 

“Yes Calbear, soulmate tattoos are pretty colours.”

 

“Yours isn’t very pretty.”

 

“Well that’s because it isn’t really a soulmate tattoo.”

 

And, well, Calum kind of sort of a little bit understood the sadness in his mum’s eyes then. He wouldn’t really understand, not properly, for several years, not until Joy told him the whole story of the tattoo that stopped mid-development, her long mourning of her soulmate and the solace she found in Calum’s father, who never had a soulmate in the first place. But right then, he understand why his mum wasn’t happy – because who wouldn’t want the pretty colours?

 

Calum didn’t really like the sound of this soulmate thing. His parents were the most sickeningly in love people his six-year-old eyes had ever seen, and they weren’t soulmates? Nah, at that moment, Calum decided that it was all a load of bullshit.

 

**\- 1 -**

 

Ashton fucking Irwin was 11 when he first decided he’d met his soulmate. She was a _grandesco_ called Ashley, and the flash of orange under her school shirt plus the similarity in names was enough to convince Ashton that they were destined for each other. Eleven-year-old Calum thinks Ashton’s a fucking idiot. Coincidentally, so does Ashley.

 

“You don’t understand, Cal. It was like electric when she passed me the pencil. I swear, I know it’s her.” Calum watched Ashton suspiciously, arms hung over the edge of his Spider-Man duvet and eyes practically transforming into hearts. It’s not that Calum wasn’t happy for Ashton; it’s just that Ashley Olivier had hated both of them since the start of Year 7, and whilst Ashton thought it was completely reasonable that her opinion might change, Calum wasn’t sure.

 

Calum, in fact, didn’t really give a shit if Ashton had found his soulmate. Calum didn’t give a shit about Ashton to be completely honest (He did; Ashton was his only friend regardless of how fucking annoying he continued to be). It’s just that, Calum didn’t care about soulmates and Ashton hadn’t shut up about the whole system since he found out he was an _ostendere._ Since that magical day two months before, Ashton had managed to argue that every girl in school with the beginnings of a soulmate tattoo was his soulmate.

 

“It’s fate, Cal. I’m an _ostendere,_ when Ashley’s tattoo grows fully I promise mine will match it.”

 

(Spoiler: It didn’t. Ashley Olivier’s orange sunset tattoo completed two weeks later, after a Year 9 _ostendere_ called Emily bumped into her in the canteen queue. Emily had paraded her tattooed wrist around ever since.)

 

-

 

Ashton fucking Irwin was 14 when he found his next soulmate. It was a Saturday, and honestly Calum was already quite vocally in a horrific mood, having been dragged out of bed at just gone 7am by his over excited best friend to go to the shitty beach in shitty weather because “ _me and my mum did this every year, Cal._ ” Honestly, what kind of fucking reprobate plans a beach trip in the middle of winter? The kind of reprobate that finds a new soulmate every month, apparently.

 

Calum had stood, hands in pockets and frown seemingly permanent on his face, by the pier for two hours, begrudgingly but patiently waiting for Ashton to be done with pissing about so they could both just go home and eat something warm. But _of course_ , it couldn’t be that simple. Amongst the shells and rock pools that had apparently captured his attention, Ashton had somehow found a girl called Sara, who he _of course_ fell in love with immediately and _of course_ they were soulmates.

 

“Cal, it’s real this time I promise.”

 

“What happened to Imogen from Maths?”

 

“Oh she’s an _ostendere,_ we were never meant to be together. Sara’s so much prettier.”

 

“You’ve known her for all of two minutes, Ashton.”

 

“Yeah but she’s _the one_ , Cal. She likes TMNT.”

 

“Is Sara even a _grandesco?_ ”

 

“Oh. I didn’t ask actually. I’ll let you know.”

 

(Spoiler: She wasn’t. Sara came from a generation of _ostenderes_ , and the weird tingly feeling she’d felt when Ashton touched her arm was actually the beginnings of an allergic reaction to the nuts the lovestruck idiot had eaten earlier in the day. Sara’s mum tried to sue. Ashton cried.)

 

-

 

Ashton fucking Irwin was 17 when he _absolutely definitely_ found his _honestly real this time_ soulmate. They’d met online – some weird virtual gaming site that Calum never gave a shit about – and had apparently fallen in love through Facebook messaging and an obscene amount of video calls. And, unbelievably, Calum was kind of happy for his friend. Sure, he was sickeningly infatuated and it made Calum want to vomit a little bit, but the pair had been “dating” for a month and all signs pointed to being _actual_ soulmates. Josie was a _grandesco_ , two months younger than Ashton with a Blink-182 obsession and the biggest smile Calum had ever seen, like seriously even bigger than Ashton’s and that was no mean feat. Things seemed to finally be working out for Calum’s hopelessly romantic best friend.

 

Except for, y’know, the fact that Josie lived about 11,000 miles away.

 

And that. Well, that was a problem for Calum. Because 11,000 miles meant Calum had to deal with Ashton on nights when he really wanted a cuddle, or really needed some love and attention – and fuck, did Calum fucking hate giving Ashton attention. One month into Ashton’s dysfunctional relationship, Calum decided that he’d rather fucking die than have to console a crying, drunken, lovesick Ashton one more time.

 

So all things considered, it was quite handy when Josie announced that she was visiting Sydney with her family two months later. Suddenly, nights spent stopping Ashton’s tears turned into nights spent having to smother Ashton until he would _just shut the fuck up_ at 3am after six hours of excited ramblings about how much he _loves_ his _beautiful, perfect soulmate._ Calum couldn’t give a shit. Calum much preferred his _beautiful, perfect_ eight hours sleep.

 

The night before Josie arrived was the first time Calum had ever seen Ashton Irwin vulnerable. Sure, he’d had his heart broken plenty of times over the years and cried himself to sleep plenty, but he was always the ultimately positive Ashton ‘Sunshine’ Irwin again just hours later. But, that night, as both boys sat side by side, both alarmingly awake at 3am, Ashton wasn’t very sunshine at all.

 

“I’m scared, Calum.”

 

Calum had been waiting for the boy next to him to say something. Every night for months, Ashton had chattered on long into the night. He knew it was coming.

 

“Why?”

 

“I just really want her to be the one.”

 

And, fuck, if Calum had ever seen a boy so scared. Ashton was shaking, restless and violent, on the pillow next to him. All Calum could do was wrap an arm around him, whispering words of encouragement until his best friend fell asleep with concern still falling from his lips.

 

“I need this to be it, Cal.”

 

(Spoiler: It wasn’t. Josie and Ashton spent a full day together, and no tattoos made any appearance. Josie stayed with her family for the rest of the week, Ashton stayed indoors. It took four months and one night full of Sambuca for him to be able to say her name again.)

 

-

 

Ashton fucking Irwin is 18 and completely hammered. It’s a Friday night, and Calum’s completely used to being dragged up town every weekend by now, completely used to having to sit at the bar and watch Ashton try to chat up the bartender before disappearing into the toilets to vomit. Calum’s completely used to it, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less.

 

They’d come into the club two hours earlier, and Ashton had downed four shots of Sambuca – his consistently unwise choice of poison – in record time, before immediately taking refuge at the end of the bar to relentlessly flirt with the cute blonde bartender Lily. Calum knows the cute blonde bartender is called Lily because she just so happens to be in his Socioeconomics class, and she also just so happens to be happily engaged to her long time best friend and _soulmate_ Holly Brown. Ashton of course doesn’t know this, and Calum… Well, Calum just likes the entertainment.

 

See, after Josie, Ashton had proclaimed that he intended to live forever without meeting his soulmate; a declaration that lasted all of half a year, before his 18th birthday shenanigans lead him straight to the Leadmill Bar and straight to Lily Atkinson. Calum had gone directly to her end of the bar when they got in the club, convinced that he’d lent her notes enough times through the year to warrant a slightly illegal underage drink, and a very drunk Ashton had followed. The rest, as whomever the fuck _they_ are say, is history. (The rest being horrifically awkward flirting and two free jägerbombs misinterpreted as declarations of love.)

 

Countless weekends later, and Calum can get his own _perfectly legal, thank you very much_ drinks now and tends to leave Ashton alone to his conquest. At 01:38am, Ashton stumbles over.

 

“Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaalum!”

 

His eyes are wide, pupils dilated and glossy, and the grin on his face is sickeningly large. Calum kind of fucking hates drunk Ashton, but anything’s better than the Ashton from a few months before, so he manages.

 

“Yes, Ashton?” There’s a knowing sarcasm in his voice, so strong that Calum is genuinely confused as to how his friend doesn’t pick up on it, regardless of his inebriation. Honestly, it’s _really_ fucking obvious that Calum doesn’t give a shit about whatever Ashton is about to say.

 

“I think,” Ashton hiccups, “I think I’m in love with her.” Calum’s surprised he’s not hiccupping love hearts and rainbows at this point. The intoxicated love that brims from Ashton’s eyes is almost pathetic enough for Calum to feel sorry for him, but nah. He does it to himself, anyway.

 

“That’s good for you, buddy.”

 

Apparently, Calum’s condescending tone _does_ register to drunk-off-his-ass-Ashton, who pouts furiously before raising his head ( _“Pompous git.” “Excuse you, dramatic.”_ ) and storming off to the toilets. No surprise there, Calum simply chuckles, knocking back his beer and waving to catch Lily’s attention. The second she arrives, her head slumps to the bar with a sigh.

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

She looks at him with a snort, “He keeps telling me that I’m uncomfortable because my tattoo’s growing. Like, every time I fucking itch he touches me and tells me we’re meant to be together.”

 

Honestly, that’s such a fucking Ashton thing to do that all Calum does is laugh. His amusement is met with an irritated glare, to which he responds with a shrug and a request for another bottle of beer.

 

“Y’know, Lily,” He gulps down the new beer, which tastes just a bit like spit and sweat, “Maybe you should just abandon Holly, Ashton clearly knows you two are _destined_ to be together.”

 

“Pfft, maybe if he stopped wearing that ugly fucking purple shi-“

 

“Urm, excuse me?”

 

Two heads fling round to meet the disruption. The immediate relief Calum felt upon not seeing Ashton is quickly replaced by confusion as to why some lanky blonde kid was awkwardly shuffling next to him, eyes locked on Lily.

 

“Is one of you Lily?”

 

Calum can’t help the snort that escapes him, because really – what the fuck kind of question is that? Calum doesn’t know many guys in Sydney called Lily (Not that he’d be bothered if he did, y’know, 21st century and all) and he was pretty sure the name wouldn’t suit his 6ft2 Maori self. He bites back his sarcastic comment for the sake of the kid in front of him, whose cheeks have turned so red you could roast marshmallows on the fuckers.

 

“She is,” Calum waves his bottle in Lily’s general vicinity, which just so happens to be the other side of the bar, apparently disinterested in the conversation and busy doing her actual job. “Who’s asking?”

 

“Oh, well…” Calum can’t help but feel bad for this guy; he might actually be the most awkward person Calum’s ever met, which is saying something. “Well, I’m Luke? But I’m not really asking. Her soulmate’s looking for her and-“

 

“Wait, Holly’s here?” Calum interrupts with a grin. Calum happens to know that Holly should be in New Zealand right now, on some trip with her Biochemistry class, and that it would be _just_ _so_ Holly to come home early to surprise Lily. And honestly, Calum’s always really liked Holly since they met in Costa once, so the thought of seeing her is kind of exciting, in a very not weird, totally nonchalant way.

 

“Holly? No, no. This guy in the toilets told me to go find his ‘beautiful baby soulmate darling’ Lily. And then he vomited on my shoes.”

 

And well, Calum really fucking hates Ashton fucking Irwin. Calum kind of hates the world too. And he hates Miss Lovell, yeah, fuck Miss Lovell. Why’d she have to go and pair him up with the world’s shittiest best friend? Clearly someone’s got it out for Calum, because he sure as shit does not deserve this bullshit. He’s an eighteen-year-old boy, for fuck’s sake. He’s meant to be drinking fruity liqueur and hooking up with forgettable people he’d awkwardly run into in Costa (‘Cos fuck Starbucks) a week later, not scraping his best friend out of a pool of his own vomit on a Friday night. But, regardless of Ashton’s status as poor excuse for a human being, Calum remains Australia’s greatest hero, and stands from his stool with a sigh.

 

“Right, thanks, I’m on it. Luke, was it Luke?” His questions are met with an awkward nod and- really? How red can this guy go?

 

He leaves the Luke kid with an awkward salute and a polite pat on the back; a silent thank you for unknowingly helping him keep his best friend in track. He knows exactly where Ashton will be, curled over the same toilet as he always fucking is – right at the back of the club.

 

Calum usually doesn’t have a problem with that. The Leadmill isn’t really _that_ big, even less popular, so he can usually skirt round the sides and slip into the door at the back without having to maneuver around too many drunken idiots. But for some reason, God really fucking hates Calum, so _of course_ it’s some fucker’s birthday and half the town’s teenage population is currently packed into the tight space. Calum isn’t sure he’ll be able to make it – hell, he can’t even see the door from his position by the bar and he sure as fuck isn’t risking getting man handled just to stop Ashton drowning in a toilet bowl. (Except that yes, he definitely is because Calum still kinda owes Ashton from that one time the older boy saved him from drowning in the park pond after one particularly fun house party.)

 

Two minutes later and Calum definitely regrets ever meeting Ashton Irwin. Within seconds of stepping onto the dance floor, he’s having to politely scoot round wasted girls, and within a minute that’s turned into all out shoving rowdy college football players out of his personal space. It had taken a full two minutes to traverse one half of the room, and right there, stood under the shitty disco ball in the middle of the dance floor, Calum feels the need to question if he’ll ever make it out alive.

 

It’s during these few minutes of internal panic that the club DJ decides to start a new track, resulting in an animalistic uproar of cheers from the crowd and a surge of people to come crashing into Calum and-

 

“ _Ow._ Dude, what the fuck?” Calum’s seething, to be honest, because some fucking bastard has just knocked into his shoulder and sent him hurtling to the floor and he’s pretty sure he can already feel the sweat and beer soaking into his jeans. His new jeans, to be fucking precise.

 

From his position on the floor, all Calum can see is some giant head blocking the disco ball, chestnut brown hair sticking up in every direction, before there’s a hand pulling him up and a distant echo of an apology. By the time he’s got his bearings, Calum’s relatively alone again in the middle of the room, most people seemingly abandoning the floor after the hype of the new song had worn off. And thank fucking Christ for that. The gross combination of liquids now coating his forearms smells suspiciously like piss and vodka, but Calum’s more concerned about the fucking massive bruise he can already _feel_ forming where that dickhead had collided with his shoulder. He’s winded too, all numb and tingly and out of breath from the impact with the floor, and his legs don’t feel as supportive as they did just minutes before. Calum audibly swears, cursing his life to whomever the fuck is listening, and strides off to the back of the room to find the good for nothing dickhead he calls his best mate.

 

-

 

Saturday mornings in the outskirts of Sydney are the closest the city ever comes to tranquil. The streets are silent, bathed in the golden glow of Australian sun that pours through every open window available. Rays of light cut paths into bed sheets, highlighting tan fingers that flex and twitch in post-sleep haze. Every nook of the room illuminated; the pristine silver of steel strings, the soft warmth of oak wardrobes – the familiar stench of Sambuca wafting from the bathroom.

 

It comes as no surprise to Calum that he wakes up at 9am the next morning to the beautiful sound of a hungover Ashton Irwin wretching his guts out into the toilet. Ashton’s vomit has kind of become Calum’s weekend alarm clock; another frankly disgusting element of the fucked up yet somehow absolutely flawless mechanics of their friendship. You see, it goes something like this:

 

Calum drags a stumbling Ashton through his front door at just past 3am, silently thanking Mali’s good senses for leaving her spare key in the plant pot every single week because God forbid Calum and Ashton actually _remember_ something. Ashton mindlessly wanders upstairs, avoiding creaking steps and particularly noisy doors with impressive skill even when intoxicated, and collapses in a ball on the nest of abandoned pillows and blankets stacked at the end of Calum’s bed. Meanwhile, Calum disappears into the kitchen for two glasses of water, four slices of toast and half a pack of aspirin. He leaves one glass, two slices of toast and the aspirin on the edge of the bathroom sink before diving into bed. He stays awake for twenty minutes, finishing his own snack and keeping half an eye on Ashton (after one particularly catastrophic incident involving ten minutes of sleepwalking, a vase and two very pissed off police officers.) At around 3:30am he drifts off to sleep, feet curled in on himself and Ashton’s head resting by his ankles.

 

It’s always been routine, and Calum doesn’t exactly hate it but he certainly doesn’t enjoy the fact that his room now stinks of Sambuca and kebabs 24/7. Besides, he’s pretty sure his mum thinks he’s got a drinking problem, and Calum doesn’t have the heart to tell her that it’s actually her golden boy pseudo-son Ashton Irwin who’s worryingly dependent on alcohol. So Calum’s pretty certain this whole charade needs to end soon, or at the very least that Ashton needs to start drinking something with a less offensive odour.

 

He shuffles into the bathroom a few minutes later, bed sheets bundled in his arms, to find Ashton resting against the side of the bathtub, honey-coloured curls plastered to his forehead with sweat as he takes a drink from the glass in his hand. Upon Calum’s entrance, Ashton swings his head back and sighs in anticipation of the younger’s _favourite_ part of their Saturday morning routine.

 

“Morning, Ashton!” The chirpy whine to his voice annoys even Calum himself, but the groan that erupts from the boy beneath him as a result makes it all worth it. See, Saturday mornings open a very precious, very small window of opportunity for Calum to seek revenge against Ashton’s incessant happiness. Between 9am and 10:30am every Saturday is the _only_ time ever that Ashton Irwin could be described as grumpy, as a direct result of his weekly hangover from hell and pounding headache. And, well, Calum’s pretty grumpy more often than not, so he likes to show his best friend just how fucking annoying it is to be around someone so obnoxiously happy when you just can’t deal with life. Ashton tells Calum how much he fucking hates him. Calum couldn’t give a shit.

 

“Come on, grumpy pants,” The common nickname earns another groan. “Take your clothes off. Time to wash away the regret!”

 

“The only thing I regret is ever deciding to be your friend.”

 

“Then you finally understand what it’s like to be me. Take your fucking top off, sunshine.”

 

-

 

By 1pm, Calum’s sheets are washed and replaced, his bathroom is clean and Ashton has returned to his chipper self. They’re both sprawled out on the living room sofa, snacking on the half-cold greasy takeaway pizza Mali had brought them when she picked Calum’s parents up for a lunch out an hour earlier. Ashton’s chuckling away at whichever Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode he’d decided on, but Calum can’t seem to focus enough – which is weird in itself, considering Brooklyn Nine-Nine is, like, _the_ greatest show ever in Calum’s humble opinion.

 

Thing is, Calum can’t get comfortable on the sofa even though he sort of feels so exhausted he could fall asleep any second. He’s never this tired on a Saturday morning, and he definitely didn’t drink enough to be hungover so something’s definitely up because he can’t even lie down without being in pain and- _oh._

 

Almost instinctively, he reaches a hand up to his shoulder and presses down gently. And, well, _fuck_. That’s the issue. His face scrunches up immediately, teeth gritting in pain because holy shit that guy last night must’ve hit him even harder than he thought to do this much damage. He knew last night there’d be a bruise, but now he’s thinking he might’ve even dislocated it or fractured it or something. Calum doesn’t know. He never really cared enough to pay attention in Biology.

 

Sometime during his self-inspection, the TV’s turned off and Ashton’s twizzled round in his spot to stare at Calum in confusion. Calum, of course, only realises this when all of a sudden there’s a _second_ pressure on his shoulder that feels a lot like a pillow and even more so like an unnecessary act of violence.

 

“Ash, really?” Calum’s just about ready to throw a slice of pepperoni at Ashton, but stops dead when he turns to look at him. The older boy is staring – in a weird inquisitive way Calum’s seen him looking at his homework like – right where Calum’s fingers are prodding at his shoulder, and he looks worried. Calum really doesn’t like when Ashton’s worried, because Ashton never worries about anything. And, well great, now Calum’s worrying too.

 

“What happened to your shoulder?” There’s an edge to Ashton’s voice that’s really starting to fucking panic Calum.

 

“I got shoved over at the bar…” Calum trails off when he sees a flash of something eerily familiar and wholly disconcerting in Ashton’s eyes, “I thought it was just a bruise.”

 

“It’s a damn pretty bruise, Calum.” And then Ashton’s smiling like a fucking maniac, and Calum doesn’t have even a second to register what’s happening before he’s being pounced on and shoved face-first into the sofa. Ashton is literally fucking straddling his back. He fucking hates Ashton.

 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?!” Calum’s violent struggling is ceased as Ashton lets his weight go dead, essentially trapping Calum beneath him for all eternity. Calum knows Ashton, and so he knows how stubborn the boy can get when he’s trying to figure something out, so Calum’s definitely in for the long haul here. All he can really think about is how much his shoulder hurts and how much he wants to deck that guy at the bar for causing this situation to come about in the first place. Fucking asshole.

 

Ashton’s fingers are cold and kind of nice against the bruise and Calum finds the pain soothing just a bit, regardless of the uncomfortable position the rest of his body is in. He decides to tell Ashton this, which only results in him being ferociously _shhhhh_ ’d before the boy on top of him mutters how he _“totally knew it”_ and _“can’t quite believe this.”_ And that’s all well and good and all, but Calum doesn’t have a fucking clue what’s going on and he needs that to change, so he shoves back harshly and sits back up on the sofa.

 

“What’s going on, Ashton?” Calum’s nervous, and rightly so, because Ashton’s got that over-excited five-year-old look in his eyes that he always gets when something big is about to happen, and usually this ends badly for Calum. It’s the same look that resulted in Calum being pushed off the pier in the middle of the winter – beer, phone and wallet in hand.

 

“Well, Calum,” And god, that doesn’t sound good either. “I think it’s best I show you rather than tell you.”

 

Calum’s known Ashton fucking Irwin long enough to know that he’s a fan of drama, but really, for some reason he thought this would be an exception. It isn’t. Minutes later, Ashton’s in the middle of a lecture about life-changing events, stars colliding and the miracle of life when Calum just rips the phone out of his hand and stares.

 

And, shit.

 

Holy fucking shit.

 

That’s not a bruise at all. Calum’s staring at a picture of his shoulder, yeah, but where he assumed the bruise would be is something entirely different. Calum’s staring at the thick black outline of a crescent moon, about the size of his hand, with roughly a quarter of the outline filled with a glittering brown watercolour splash.

 

Calum’s staring at his soulmate tattoo.

 

The silence that follows is unbearable. Both boys are staring wordlessly at the picture; Calum is unconsciously rubbing his shoulder and biting his lip as he thinks. There’s a million things he wants to say, a million questions he needs to ask before his head explodes – but he couldn’t open his mouth even if he tried. When he looks up, Ashton’s staring right into his eyes, as if maybe if he looked long enough he’d be able to understand everything, which is the most fucked up thing in the world. But all of this is fucked up. _Ashton_ is the one who’s meant to find his soulmate, not Calum. Calum never gave a fuck about any of this; they both just assumed that his nonchalant attitude would somehow transcend into fate’s plan for him and his soulmate (which, Calum now knows that’s stupid and it definitely doesn’t work that way, but nothing else had ever crossed his mind). Surprisingly, Ashton speaks first.

 

“Is it Lily?”

 

And if the situation wasn’t so confusing, Calum would be rolling about with laughter at his ridiculous man-child of a best friend’s quivering lip and glossy eyes. Of _course_ that’s the first thing he thinks of; Calum’s dealing with a potentially life-ruining crisis at the ripe old age of 18 years old and Ashton’s more concerned that he’s being cockblocked. Calum’s not even sure how to answer really, doesn’t know if he can keep his eyes off his phone for any longer. So, of course, he says the first thing he thinks of.

 

“Lily met her soulmate when she was 12, Ash. They’ve been engaged for like a year, c’mon.”

 

The sentence comes out as a breath, Calum’s already refocused on his tattoo. He only raises his eyes to deliver the fatal blow.

 

“Plus, she’s gay.”

 

And the situation is still horribly confusing and Calum’s really a bit pissed off, but it’s kind of impossible not to laugh at Ashton’s reaction to that because, honestly, he didn’t even think eyes could go that wide. There’s water all over the sofa from a glass Calum didn’t even see Ashton pick up, and the older boy’s just sat silently opening his mouth like some fucking fish trying desperately to stay alive. Calum just sits, laughs, watches patiently as Ashton gets his shit together enough to form a response.

 

“Well, I didn’t know that,” His cheeks are tinged pink out of either embarrassment or sadness, Calum can’t decide, but the cringe that seems etched into his forehead screams the former. “If it’s not Lily, who is it?”

 

Calum’s mind casts back to the night before, deleting inconsequential friendly handshakes awkward brushes of sweaty skin, and tries desperately to find a face or a name or anything, really, that could be helpful. In his heart, he _knows_ it must’ve been whoever barged into his shoulder on his search for Ashton, but up until now he’s been referring to said anonymous abuser as a guy and well – Calum is not fucking gay. It’s not like he’d be distraught if he was, he’s not the type to hold something like that against anyone, but it’s just, well he’s _not._ Calum’s sensitive and athletic and pays attention to his appearance, but that doesn’t make him any less heterosexual than your average perfectly heterosexual straight guy. In fact, surely he’s more comfortable with his definite absolute heterosexuality by being aware of his femininity? Yeah, Calum’s not worried about his sexuality. Maybe.

 

“Well, there was this guy…” He trails off a bit at the end; too familiar with Ashton’s annoying habit of interrupting conversation with his every immediate thought to even bother to continue.

 

“A guy?” Ashton’s eyes light up, because of course they fucking do, “You’re gay?”

 

See, Calum knows that Ashton’s not exactly straight. And Calum knows that Ashton knows that Calum knows that Ashton’s not exactly straight. There was never any big announcement or coming out – Ashton just started dropping random guys’ names into conversation one day, and all that needed to be said had been said. Calum’s completely cool with all of it; he knows Ashton’s way too lame to go after anyone like himself, who his best friend’s sleeping with doesn’t affect him etc. But Ashton’s got this thing about wanting to discuss sexuality with Calum that the younger boy’s just never really understood. It gets brought up every now and then, and it’s usually shut down the same way.

 

“Ashton. There are few things that I am certain are true; I am Calum Hood. I am eighteen years and two months old. I am infinitely cooler than my best friend. I am also not gay.” Calum chooses to ignore his companion’s deflating chest and continues, “Besides, there was loads of girls that night. That guy probably only picked me up or something, I don’t know. I’m just not gay.”

 

And, well, that was that.

 

**\- 2 -**

 

Calum Hood is eighteen years and six months old, infinitely cooler than his best friend – and happily, openly and alarmingly pansexual.

 

The unexpected event of four months ago (that Calum and Ashton predominantly refer to as “The Catalyst”) had, apparently, sparked some kind of teenage revelation in Calum, whose life almost instantaneously seemed to do a 180 turnaround pretty much the second said Catalyst had been discovered.

 

-

 

It starts with Mali bringing his parents home after lunch, exactly 76 minutes after Ashton had unveiled the true meaning of the “bruise” on his shoulder. The second she enters the door, Mali’s staring at Calum like he’s killed a kid or something completely fucked up, and for a second the thought occurs that she _knows_ which is entirely ridiculous because she’s literally _just_ walked in.

 

“You got your soulmate tattoo.”

 

And, fuck. Call it sibling intuition or something, because minutes later Ashton’s got Calum pinned down again and the entire fucking Hood family are staring down at the moon on his skin in absolute wonder. Calum sort of feels like an exhibit, which he promptly tells Ashton. Ashton responds with an overused joke about exhibitionism. Joy responds with a slap to the head for both of them.

 

They decide over dinner a few hours later that they should go out the next weekend to celebrate, which Calum very vocally notes he finds absurd only to be shut down by Ashton’s relentless enthusiasm towards the subject. Ashton adores spending time in public with the Hoods; something about the complete family unit makes him miss his own family a little bit less. He especially likes when they go on spontaneous walks – one of Calum’s least favourite activities – that pass Ashton’s old house. Calum thinks it’s something to do with proving to God or some shit that he can still exist in a happy family regardless of how much He tries to prevent it, Mali’s convinced it’s a way of feeling close enough to his mum to let her know that he’s doing okay without having to physically visit the pale marble slab in the overgrown back garden.

 

Calum kind of forgets about the whole thing for the rest of the week, finds himself too caught up in finishing long overdue work for his recent socioeconomics assignment and trying to find an affordable gift for Lily that says “Happy birthday!” and “I’m sorry about my friend” all in one. Somehow over the course of the year he’d acquired her number, and their causal friendship meant that she was one of the first – and only, for that matter – people he told about the recent development in his love life. Lily, of course, thought it was wonderful that he could finally experience what makes her so happy. Calum regrets telling her.

 

So when Friday rolls around, Calum is drowning in a kind of (extremely) important essay that he maybe (definitely) forgot about and mercilessly blocking out everything that doesn’t directly relate to the regression of local economies in the 21st Century. Surprisingly enough, the condition of Ashton Irwin’s hair does not have even the slightest significance in regards to socioeconomical trends, and so Calum has been ignoring any and all discussion on that topic successfully enough for the last half hour. It becomes less successful when his textbook is ripped from beneath him and replaced with a pair of jeans and a flannel that smells suspiciously like Ashton but is _definitely_ the one he bought with the twenty dollar bill he found taped inside his guitar. (Over the years, Calum had learnt to hide everything from Ashton – from money to socks – or risk succumbing to a life of sharing all his earthly possessions).

 

“Calum.”

 

Oh god, Ashton’s using his whiny voice. Calum looks up to see the expected accompanying pout, completely unchanged since the first time he’d witnessed it twelve years ago, and is met with a brush being thrust into his hand.

 

“I get that you’ve got shit tons of work to do, but that’s your own fault and Mum wants us ready by like seven and it’s already half six so _please_ just-“

 

“Have you been wearing my flannel?”

 

And suddenly Ashton’s flouncing away to the bathroom with an exasperated sigh but a winning smile, because both boys know that once Calum’s engaged in conversation it’s impossible for him to focus on schoolwork. Fuck Ashton and his irritatingly good memory.

 

Calum figures out Ashton’s pretty much been wearing his entire wardrobe once he’s dressed and ready. The left arm of the t-shirt he’s thrown on under his flannel is marginally looser than the right, undoubtedly caused by the elbow splint Ashton had to wear over Christmas, and his jean pockets are frayed just a little bit where his thief of a friend has quite clearly been picking them. Calum assesses the damage with a sigh; eyes catching Ashton hanging at the bathroom door watching him study his clothes anxiously. He doesn’t say anything; they both find their wallets and leave the room wordlessly. Calum is far too good of a friend.

 

An hour later, Calum finds himself sat in the back of a quirky Italian restaurant in the centre of town. The walls are a jumble of rustic red brick, unplastered and untouched so the owner can falsely claim that it’s been in the family for generations, which Calum never understood the appeal of. He’s familiar enough with the town to know that the restaurant was a beach and sportswear shop up until eight years ago, as are the rest of his family, yet that fact seems to go ignored once Jean-Ralphio descends into his welcoming speech.

 

Oddly enough, Calum finds it hard to be his usual cynical self in this restaurant. It might be the warm aroma of baking pizza dough that seems to circulate endlessly, or the variety of antique frames pinned up to the walls holding grainy pictures of beaming Italian chefs, or maybe even the fat little Corgi that sits just inside the entrance and follows one particular waiter round wherever he goes – but it’s probably Ashton. See, the Hood parents _really_ like this particular restaurant, so it’s sort of a tradition to eat here whenever something important is happening to the family. The first time Ashton came along was five years before, just over two weeks after the funeral, and was the night Joy and David told them all that they’d been accepted as Ashton’s legal guardians. All five members of the Hood family had cried over their spaghetti that night; Ashton had been so violently happy that he’d dented the floor upon jumping up to hug everyone. The hole in the tile’s still visible five years later – which, wow, Jean-Ralphio really needs to renovate.

 

The meal’s over quickly – Joy insisting that she and her husband need to be home before ten – and Ashton’s still smiling like an absolute maniac, even when they’re all piled unceremoniously into Mali’s car and leaving the car park. Calum can’t find it in himself to take the piss, not when Ashton’s so obviously the happiest he’s been in a long time, so he just joins in the smiling and laughs along to another of David’s anecdotes about Mali as a demon baby.

 

Minutes later, said demon is taking a wrong turn and – oh _god_. Calum knows his sister well enough to know that her detours usually mean the three Hood siblings abandoning their parents in favour of some strange bonding activity that tends to cater to Mali and Ashton’s tastes much more than Calum’s. He’s right, of course he is, and soon enough he’s being dragged out of the car without so much as a goodbye or a safety precaution lecture from his parents to maintain the normality. By the time Calum’s regained control over his _own_ body, thank you very much, he’s already far too aware of where they are. He thinks he’d recognise the cobbled entrance even if he was blind, could maneuver the stairs in his sleep. And, fuck, Calum really doesn’t want to be here right now.

 

The Leadmill’s returned to its usual state of not quite busy this week. There’s a dramatic reduction in the number of drunken rowdy teenagers and Calum finds himself thanking the fucking Lord for that fact. He spots Lily the second the bar’s in sight and gently nudges both Ashton and Mali in the right direction; the former of the two looking far less enthusiastic about this than he usually does. And rightly so, Calum supposes, seen as though Ashton’s 100% more aware of the reality of his failed conquest than he was last time he was here.

 

Lily’s busy mixing some frankly disgusting looking concoction of whiskey and amaretto when they reach the bar, and she sprints off to the other end with the promise of returning once she’s finished making drinks for “this really whiny kid who won’t stop calling his friend a dick, or something.”

 

“Calum, how the fuck do you actually know Lily?” And, oh. Calum had forgotten to ever actually let Ashton in on that particular detail. Ashton’s looking at him with this weird raised eyebrow and it’s sort of patronising and ridiculous all at once, like a kid trying to act like an adult. But Calum’s not exactly fond on the idea of telling Ashton that Lily’s in his class, because Ashton’s not stupid and keeps enough tabs on Calum to know that he’s been doing socioeconomics for at least two years. Meaning Calum’s definitely known Lily for longer than Ashton has. Meaning Calum’s definitely been keeping Lily’s relationship status from Ashton. Meaning Calum’s definitely a shit best friend. And goddammit, this is exactly what Calum didn’t want to happen in the first place.

 

In the end, Mali’s life-saving sibling intuition interrupts Calum’s splutters and excuses to announce that she’s going to dance, and Ashton being Ashton jumps at the chance to embarrass himself, and so Calum’s left alone. Lily’s back for a second, throwing him a beer on the house and muttering apologies before scurrying into the backroom, and then Calum’s just sat. And this should be familiar enough, except there’s no awkward drunken flirting for him to watch and he doesn’t really like the music playing and the thought of dancing kind of makes him want to fucking gag, so there’s nothing really to do. Which is fine, obviously. Sort of.

 

He’s weighing up the pros and cons of catching a taxi home alone when something familiar catches his eye. There’s a glass on the bar, just a few seats down from him actually, three quarters full with that gross mixture Lily was making earlier, and Calum has half a mind to stand up and slap whoever’s drinking it for absolutely destroying two perfectly fine liquors, when said monster steps up to take a drink.

 

Calum finds himself watching that lanky Luke kid, who’s apparently somewhat of a regular, from the week before – the one who’d asked if his name was Lily, yeah that one. Right now, Lanky Luke (as Calum decides to christen him) seems to be in an argument with some other dude with his back turned to Calum. Calum’s never been much of a lip reader, can make out specific swear words and nothing else, but manages to catch the occasional “dickhead” and feels safe enough in the assumption that Lanky Luke is the whiny kid Lily was complaining about earlier. He chuckles at that; isn’t it weird how things seem to link up in the most tedious of ways?

 

Somehow, Lanky Luke becomes Calum’s source of entertainment for the night. There’s something about his pouty lips and the way he wears every emotion so clearly on his face that has Calum poorly attempting to muffle his laughter behind the half empty bottle of beer in his hands. His night seems to follow this general routine; sitting at the end of the bar watching Lanky Luke argue with his anonymous friend, checking that Mali and Ashton are still dancing (they always are) and refilling his extortionately expensive beer that Lily has apparently been giving him mates rates on all along. Calum makes a mental note to thank her later.

 

It’s just gone midnight when it happens. Calum returns from a quick toilet stop to discover that Lanky Luke’s dickhead friend has apparently abandoned him, and so the boy in question is slumped over the bar with his head to the marble counter. Calum hovers behind him on his way back to the his seat, unsure whether he should say anything or leave him to wallow by himself. Over the thumping bass of whatever shitty song’s playing, Calum can hear the suspicious sound of sobbing and decides that he doesn’t care enough about this guy to sit through a tearful retelling of what just happened, so opts to hang out on a table behind the hysteric boy until he figures out what to do.

 

It’s important to note here that Calum’s only mildly intoxicated; he made it to the toilet and back by himself, though there was a hell of a lot of flailing and stumbling along the way. So when Calum finds his eyes drifting to Lanky Luke’s ass, he starts to panic just a little bit. The thing is, ever since he found his fucking tattoo he can’t stop thinking about the possibility that it was actually that guy. And, as a consequence, he can’t stop thinking about ending up with a guy. And now all of a sudden he can’t stop thinking about Lanky Luke’s ass and how it’s cute in a way that girls’ aren’t, more toned and less curvy, and how his denim jeans don’t hang as tight as most bodycon dresses but somehow that kind of makes it all hotter and- _oh for fuck’s sake._

 

Calum kind of hates himself. He can’t believe he’s popped a fucking boner in the middle of a club, all from staring at some random guy’s ass. He’s not even in a remotely sexual position; he’s fucking crying at a bar – why the fuck Calum finds that attractive he has no idea. Suddenly, the fact that it’s Lanky Luke and not Lanky Lucy or some shit is very much a minor issue, and the erection he is having a _lot_ of difficulty dealing with is entirely more important. Calum very quickly realises that he couldn’t give a flying fuck whether these awkward boners are caused by guys, girls or anyone else for that matter – he just would quite like his dick to control itself, if that’s not too much to ask.

 

-

 

It goes on like this for a while – accidentally finding the wrong kind of people attractive, springing up at random when he’s watching particularly sweaty football matches – and then all of a sudden it’s June and Calum and Ashton are sat on an all too familiar stretch of beach, sipping Sambuca and questioning everything, in a way that only drunk teenagers can.

 

It’s somewhat of a tradition for the two of them. Ashton insists he prefers their annual beach trips to visiting any stone or graveyard, because surely it’s better to celebrate the times when she was alive rather than dead? And Calum knows it’s not great, knows Anne would scold him to the high heavens if she knew he was letting her precious son get wasted at the beach in her memory, but he also knows that this is the only day of the year that Ashton will be completely honest about it. Calum knows that Ashton hasn’t cried about it anywhere other than the beach since the month it happened, and he thinks maybe that that’ll never change. So he ignores the niggling guilt in the back of his mind in favour of pouring himself another shot.

 

It’s late, which it always seems to be whenever Calum and Ashton have a moment of significance, and by the time their bottle’s empty the moon’s right at the peak of the stars, staring down at the ocean from the top of the world. It’s almost a full moon tonight, which Calum is thankful for in a completely nonsensical way. He’s pretty sure the presence of a crescent moon on a night that’s already ceremoniously fucked up would derail him for good. And he’s damn sick of being derailed.

 

See, Calum’s been meaning to mention the whole finding dudes hot thing for quite a while now. For a few weeks, he’d waited patiently for Ashton to bring up sexuality again and kind of just slip it in there – if you pardon the innuendo – but Ashton had apparently given up with that whole charade at just the wrong time. So Calum’s been unsuccessfully building the nerve to bring it up for three months, and he decides that right now, pleasantly drunk under the moon, is the perfect time.

 

“I like guys.”

 

Calum regrets it almost immediately, can’t stop his hands from shaking so badly that he resorts to just sticking them into the sand whilst cursing himself for only letting Ashton bring the one bottle of Sambuca. Apparently this conversation needs more than half a litre of liquid confidence. Ashton’s just staring out into the distance, and for the longest time all Calum can hear is his own panicked breathing and the gentle breaking of waves. The older boy’s eyes are glassy, though they have been all night, when he turns to Calum.

 

“I know.”

 

And, well, he wasn’t expecting that. And he definitely wasn’t expecting the lopsided half smile gracing Ashton’s face, either. There’s tears rolling down both of their cheeks now, and Calum’s mouth is hanging open like a fucking idiot because he’s having trouble trying to breathe, never mind forming a coherent sentence. Ashton senses this, as he always does, and develops.

 

“I noticed you’ve been psyching yourself up a lot recently, figured you were hiding something from me.” And Ashton’s face drops just slightly at that, like not being entirely truthful with him is the worst thing Calum could’ve done. “Don’t know why you would though; I’ve known you’re not straight since we were six.”

 

“What?” Ashton’s smiling again, which Calum kind of hates at that moment, because nothing makes sense and he’s not allowed to understand what’s going if Calum doesn’t. “Ash, I’ve only known myself since like…”

 

“Your soulmate tattoo, right? Yeah, I figured that too. But it’s been pretty obvious to everyone else since you were making your Michelangelo and Donatello figures kiss instead of fight in school. Plus, y’know, you like football. Nothing screams straight like watching twenty two sweaty guys run around for ninety minutes.”

 

And just like that, the conversation’s over and Ashton’s giggling and pulling Calum into an awkward one-armed hug. It’s uncomfortable in the position they’re in, but neither pull away for fear of ruining the other’s moment. Calum realises shortly after that this is probably the least Ashton’s ever cried during one of their annual beach trips and Calum’s sort of elated by that fact. Maybe he’s not so bad of a best friend after all, even through all this sexuality shit.

 

-

 

So yeah, it’s July and Calum Hood is eighteen years and six months old, proudly pansexual and the happiest he’s been in years. Somehow, everything seems to be going his way; he’s getting miraculous A grades in his socioeconomics class, Joy’s finally allowed Ashton to move into Mali’s old room which means Calum’s room is his once again to trash as he pleases, and he’s managed to save enough money from his part-time takeaway job to be able to afford a phone that’s not second-hand and cracked in three different places.

 

That’s where he is now, actually – Pizza Plus, that is – slumped over the counter fiddling with his old Game Boy whilst Ashton trots about in the background, mopping or sweeping or whatever the fuck Calum’s meant to be helping him do. They’d both managed to get jobs on account of being Pizza Plus’ two most dedicated customers over the years; the shop’s owner took one look at the address on their CVs and hired the both of them without so much as an interview. It helped, of course, that Ashton had finally gotten round to putting a deposit down on a beat up old Toyota, meaning that the pair had been immediately assigned to weekend delivery duty. Which meant no more getting wasted at the LeadmillI every Friday. Calum thinks that might be the best part of the job, Ashton nearly cried when he found out.

 

It’s surprisingly quiet for a Friday night; nobody ever really comes into the shop, but they’ve usually had at least double the amount of delivery orders at this point. By eleven, Calum’s created two new Pokémon saves, and Ashton has meticulously cleaned every inch of the building. There’s only one chef left in the kitchen, Calum wants to say it’s Yan but honestly he doesn’t care enough to learn names, and there hasn’t been a single order for an hour and a half. Calum’s just about to declare his shift finished and call for a taxi home when the obnoxiously loud shrill of the phone overpowers the tinny 8-bit theme coming from his Game Boy. Calum sighs, reaching for the phone with the hand not ferociously trying to fight this really annoying gym leader who won’t leave him the fuck alone.

 

“Pizza Plus, what can I get for you?”

 

The voice on the other end is almost completely drowned out by the familiar bass of some Green Day song, and Calum finds himself rolling his eyes instinctively. He knows who’s ordering; the same group of kids his age that have parties every Friday and request their pizza to be left outside the door every single time.

 

“Uh, hey, can I get a sixteen inch pepperoni?”

 

And, well, Calum starts to pay attention, because that is _not_ the usual order of Hawaiian, and the voice certainly does not belong to Juliet, the whiny chick that tries to get Calum’s number every time they order. This voice is gravelly, and a little bit strained – and kinda hot, which Calum thinks is ridiculous because honestly how can he find a voice hot through this shitty phone from the 70s?

 

“Yeah, sure. Address?”

 

The address is different too, just a few miles away from the Leadmill actually, and Calum decides to take off the delivery charge when he discovers it’s only a street away from Mali’s apartment; figures he’ll sign himself and Ashton out before they go so they can visit their sister on the way home. Calum’s just about to end the call when the voice speaks up again, sort of sheepish this time.

 

“Um, this might be stupid but can I request something?”

 

And, here it goes. The only part of the job Calum hates. See, Pizza Plus has developed a reputation; the old delivery driver (the one Calum and Ashton replaced, yeah that guy) wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, and people caught on to the fact that he’d do pretty much anything you asked. Calum’s lost track of how many times he’s had to tell people to fuck off.

 

“Look, dude, I’m not doing anything weird…”

 

“Oh! Uh, no. I was just gonna ask if you could bring it inside? I, uh, I’ve got some people round and I really don’t want them to steal my pizza, so if I leave the door unlocked can you take it into the bedroom?”

 

Calum’s pleasantly surprised by such a normal request, and ten minutes later, Yan (or is it Ray?) has got the pizza in the oven and Calum’s managed to get the directions on his phone. He finds Ashton moping about in the stockroom, counting boxes of parmesan or some shit, and manages to corral him out of the door just in time for the pizza to be ready.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Ashton’s practically asleep at the wheel and Calum’s bordering on delirious but they’ve made it to the right street. It’s actually pretty nice, all suburban and pastel colours – not where Calum would expect the usual emo crew to live at all. That is, until he hears the obscenely loud Foo Fighters song playing from the last house on the right and, yep, that’s more like it.

 

He’s out of the car and navigating the horde of people smoking on the driveway in seconds. People are eyeing up the pizza in his hands left right and centre, one girl even trying to take it from him, but Calum’s on a mission to find the bedroom (up the stairs and third door on the left, apparently) and so perseveres through with eyes firmly on the ground and phone tucked deep in his pocket. He’s not being stereotypical or anything; it’s just that he’s in a stranger’s house and he knows _none_ of these people, and it’s a brand new fucking phone okay?

 

People are crammed into every room, sweaty and vibrating together like weird athletic atoms if atoms wore ripped skinnies and band shirts, and Calum’s honestly having a really hard time breathing because Jesus how does a room even get this hot? When he finally finds the bedroom he’s looking for, he’s lost his snapback amongst the crowd and like three people have spilled drinks down his work shirt which, great, he only has one of so he’ll have to wash that between homework tomorrow. Fucking superb.

 

The bedroom in question isn’t entirely dissimilar from his own. The carpet’s barely visible under clothes and what looks like sheet music and half written essays, and there’s a grey State Champs flag pinned above the bed. Calum admires that briefly, knows it’s from their tour in 2012 and _really_ fucking hard to get hold of, meaning anonymous hot phone voice guy has a sweet music taste and/or some damn impressive connections. There’s a guitar in the corner, too, that Calum recognizes as the very same Fender Elite Stratocaster that he’d pined over for months last year before buying a shitty knockoff from the shady music store in town, and he has to throw the pizza on the bed and wrap his arms around himself to get rid of the urge to go and fuck with someone else’s property. Calum decides right there and then that’d it be beneficial for everyone if he and anonymous hot phone voice guy became acquainted. He decides a second later that this is all creepy as fuck and he needs to get the fuck out of this guy’s room before someone reports him for stalking or some shit.

 

It’s on his way out that it happens; there’s a flash of platinum blonde as soon as the door opens, something hits his shin and then there’s a group of four guys walking around him to pound against the door that’s now shut firmly behind him. From his position behind the group, Calum vaguely recognizes one of them; there’s a familiar blonde quiff and he’s pretty sure he remembers seeing _that_ ass before, but they’re all too busy shouting and calling the person who made it into the room – presumably anonymous hot phone voice guy – a wanker to turn around and show their faces. So Calum does what he does best – he stops caring, shrugs and leaves the house without a second thought.

 

-

 

Calum wakes up on the sofa to the familiar sound of Brooklyn Nine-Nine on the TV and weird sizzling coming from the kitchen. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s just gone midday, meaning he’s slept for a solid twelve hours and somehow still feels like he’s been hit by a fucking commercial airline (which, as Ashton just _loves_ to remind him, is almost impossible). He’s well aware that he’s got, like, seventeen essays to complete, but it’s the Pontiac Bandit episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and anyone who knows anything about anything knows that that episode is the greatest twenty-three minutes in television history. Calum vaguely registers that this is the episode Ashton was watching that day four months ago, which is kinda funny actually because- _oh fuck no._

Fucking no. This is not happening.

 

Except it definitely fucking is because Calum’s shoulder is _definitely_ numb and kinda tingly and _what the fuck_ is going on? Calum’s in the kitchen within seconds, grabbing an unaware Ashton and pulling his t-shirt down in a panic.

 

“ASHTONTELLMEIT’SNOTFUCKINGCHANGEDTELLMERI-“

 

“Oh, sweet, you got another bit!”

 

And Ashton fucking Irwin might actually be the shittiest person in the world, because only a maniac _wouldn’t_ pick up on the fact that Calum is quite clearly shitting himself about the situation. Yet here Ashton is, beaming proudly as if this is the best thing that could be happening right now. Calum kind of wants to punch him. So he does.

 

“Ow, Calum, what the fuck?”

 

“What the fuck yourself, Ash?!” Calum knows he’s redirecting his anger to try and feel better, and he definitely knows it’s a shitty thing to do, but he’s just so fucking pissed and Ashton looks so fucking confused and just _urgh._ “I’m clearly fucking mad about this, can you fucking help me instead of standing there like a fucking idiot?”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Calum. What the _fuck_ do you expect me to do, rub it better? It’s a fucking tattoo, you’ve not fallen off your skateboard.”

 

And, oh okay. Calum’s not entirely used to Ashton fighting back, even less so Ashton fighting back with a completely valid point. So Calum’s kind of lost for words now, stood gaping at his best friend in the kitchen, and all of a sudden he’s crying. He’s crying like a fucking baby because, honestly, Calum didn’t recognise a single fucking person that touched him at that party and fate must actually be fucking with him right now.

 

“Ash…” It’s pretty pathetic, he thinks, how easily Ashton forgives him, and immediately pulls him into a hug. Not that Calum’s complaining, or that he’d even be able to through the fucking ridiculous sobs that are pouring out of him. They stand there for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other with Ashton rubbing Calum’s back and Calum incoherently mumbling swear words into Ashton’s shoulder.

 

When he pulls away, Ashton looks entirely more sympathetic than before. There’s a few seconds of silence whilst Calum pulls himself together, then they’re both disappearing into the living room with a plate of bacon each. Brooklyn Nine-Nine’s finished now, so Ashton turns the TV off in favour of staring directly into Calum’s eyes whilst they eat. Calum chooses to keep his comments about how much of a fucking weirdo he looks for later.

 

“You okay?”

 

And Calum has to laugh at that, because his eyes are red raw and there’s snot trapped at the bottom of his nose and he is clearly not fucking okay, and it’s just such an _Ashton_ thing to say in a situation like this. He feels better briefly, before he remembers the new addition to his shoulder and resumes sulking.

 

“If it helps,” Ashton adds, “It’s even prettier now. Like, the new colour’s a platinum white, and it sort of clouds into the brown like a chocolate and vanilla galaxy.”

 

“Well, at least my pain’s pretty.” Calum knows that’s the wrong response when Ashton’s face drops. “I’m sorry, Ash. I just… Am I doing something wrong? Have I broken the soulmate rules or something and fate’s choosing to fuck me up?”

 

Ashton giggles, honest to God giggles, and shuffles closer to Calum to rest his head on the non-life-changing shoulder.

 

“Life doesn’t have a rulebook, Cal. The mechanics of falling in love aren’t so easily deciphered.”

 

“You’re a fucking pansy, you know that?”

 

“Eat your bacon, Calum.”

 

**\- 3 -**

 

Ashton fucking Irwin is 19 and he’s found his soulmate.

 

Like, _actually_ found his soulmate.

 

Calum can’t quite believe it, outright refuses to believe it, in fact, until both boys are stood in the kitchen and Calum’s staring at the beautifully intricate tree design looping round Ashton’s forearm and, yep, that’s _definitely_ a soulmate tattoo. It’s perfectly Ashton; long, curling lines decorated with deep, forest green leaves and the tiniest golden flowers, almost invisible on first inspection. The trunk is a thin, tan stem – not leagues away from Calum’s natural skin colour – that fades in at the wrist and explodes into the expanse of the leaves about half way up. Calum thinks it vaguely resembles the White Tree of Gondor, with its spindly branches and magic golden shimmer, but that’s the nerdiest fucking thing ever and if he tells Ashton he will _never_ live it down, so he remains silent.

 

“Do you like it?” Ashton’s practically buzzing in place – Calum’s having to hold his arm to even get a good look at the cause of his excitement – and his eyes haven’t left the tattoo since he burst into the house screaming about it. Calum’s pretty sure he could call it the ugliest thing in the world and Ashton would just smile and ignore him. Not that it is ugly; it’s actually a really fucking beautiful tattoo. He’s not jealous. Maybe.

 

“It’s….” Calum’s never been particularly good with words, and for once he actually doesn’t want to dampen Ashton’s spirit, so he takes his time. “It’s beautiful, Ash. I’m really happy for you.”

 

And if Ashton’s face is anything to go by, Calum thinks the sincerity of his words pulled through. He honestly might have the lamest best friend in the world, because he’s definitely said nicer things than that over the years, but right now Ashton’s lip is quivering and his eyes are wide and it looks like someone’s just handed him the world on a silver platter. Which, I guess to Ashton, someone just has.

 

See, Calum would never mention it, but after everything that happened when they were thirteen Ashton had kind of put all of his cracked and fragile eggs in one big soulmate dependent basket (which, as an _ostendere,_ is a really dangerous thing to do considering you could actually end up never touching your soulmate enough to complete their tattoo and consequently get yours). It was as if he thought that only the arrival of his soulmate would replace all the love he’d lost, which Calum understood and all but the incessant researching and the whole finding three soulmates a year thing only fuelled Calum’s hatred for the whole system.

 

But Ashton’s just so happened to meet his soulmate in December, and Calum can’t find it in himself to be anything but happy about it because this month is always fucking horrible for Ashton; Christmas tends to bring up a lot of shit for him, always leads to him questioning his place in the Hood family. Calum’s lost track of how many times the whole family’s roamed the streets looking for the older boy after he’s disappeared on Christmas Eve (Calum knows exactly where he goes every year, chooses not to tell anyone in favour of letting Ashton have his few precious hours alone by the headstone). And now Ashton’s stood in the kitchen in the middle of the worst month in the year, possibly the happiest Calum’s ever seen him, and Calum just kind of wants to kiss whoever this soulmate is for making his best friend so fucking happy. Which kind of brings up an important point.

 

“Who is it?”

 

Has Calum mentioned that Ashton’s a massive fucking drama queen? Because he is. And it’s never not fucking annoying. Calum knows it’s coming the minute Ashton looks at him, because there’s that mischievous glint in his eye that’s never good and then he’s clearing his throat and puffing his chest out and-

 

“Not telling.”

 

He’s got to be fucking joking.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

 

Surely he’s fucking joking?

 

“Nope.” Ashton grins, like the actual fucking wanker he is, “I want you to meet him first.”

 

And, okay, that’s fair enough. Calum still doesn’t understand why he can’t have a fucking name at least, but he knows Ashton well enough to know that if he’s decided not to tell Calum, there’s no getting it out of him. And that’s that, for now.

 

-

 

They go to the restaurant again – because of course they do; this is an important family event – and Ashton gets overexcited talking about how beautiful this mysterious soulmate of his is and ends up crying over his spaghetti. Calum laughs for a solid five minutes; Mali calls him a horrible person but, really, he already knew that.

 

They’ve just ordered dessert and Mali’s reciting a weird anecdote about Ashton as a kid when Calum really starts thinking about the situation. He looks around the table; sees his Mum trying to subtly swipe a chunk of meatball off his Dad’s collar whilst they both laugh fondly at his sister’s story, sees Ashton listening intently but with his eyes still drifting to his forearm every few seconds, _feels_ rather than sees Mali’s arms flailing about as she talks – a painful habit she’s had since childhood. Calum’s all of a sudden feeling a bit weird, like a wave of nostalgia’s just hit and he’s starting to realise that everything’s changing right underneath his nose and he hasn’t even noticed. Mali’s, like, _old_ now and living by herself, Ashton’s found his soulmate… even _Calum_ ’s found his soulmate, sort of anyway, which was absolutely never planned and _wow_ how did he not register that life is completely different now?

 

Ashton’s watching Calum as he panics, giving something other than his tattoo his full attention for the first time all day, and soon the older boy’s whisking the other off to the little bathroom in the corner of the restaurant for “one on one brother best friend serious talk” or some shit. Calum complains about how ridiculous it is the whole time, Ashton continues regardless.

 

“What’s up?” He’s got his older brother face on, Calum notices, the one that he reserves exclusively for serious chats because they’ve always said they’d rather treat each other like best friends than brothers, Ashton citing that Calum’s less likely to hit him if that’s the case.

 

“Nothing.” Calum’s ninety percent sure that Ashton’s noticed how he’s biting his lip and trying to stop his hands from shaking and all that typical shit, because the older brother face has now been replaced by a look of panic and worry that’s all too familiar from Ashton whenever Calum’s upset. See, Calum’s built himself the reputation of the cold-stone emotionless asshole one of their perfectly molded duo, so Ashton’s never been entirely good at dealing with Calum’s feelings. He usually just offers a hug and waits for it to run its course. Clearly that’s not going to work with Jean-Ralphio singing opera outside and two slices of tiramisu already on the way to their table.

 

“Okay.” And for the briefest of seconds Calum thinks he’s off the hook, but he’s dealing with Ashton Irwin here and nothing’s ever that easy. “You can tell me the truth now, like right now, or we can go back out and I’ll tell Mum you’ve been crying.”

 

“Ash, I’m not even-“

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

And Calum barely has time to grab Ashton’s arm, he’s already half way out the door when Calum drags him back inside and throws him against the sink. Ashton lets out this grumpy little pained squeal, and Calum guesses he should apologise but honestly he’s about ten seconds away from bursting into tears and he refuses to start sobbing in the fucking Italian toilets.

 

“Look I’ve only just realised that everything’s changing and you’ve found your soulmate and Mali’s moved out and both of you are gonna end up in love soon and then you won’t need me as much and you’ll both be happy doing your own thing and Mum and Dad will always see me as their least favourite child when you’re not even really their fucking kid but you’re so much better at me than everything and I’m never gonna find whoever my soulmate is because they’re a fucking idiot and they won’t just stay in one place but you’re all happy with Mr. Perfect and it’s your night and I shouldn’t even be having this conversation right now I’m such a selfish ba-“

 

“Calum, breathe.”

 

Thank God for Ashton really, because Calum had kind of forgotten about the whole needing oxygen thing and was very close to passing out before Ashton interrupted. He makes a mental note to thank him later whilst trying to get his breath back.

 

“Calum Hood, you know I love you more than anyone else in the world and so I say this with your best interests at heart – you’re a fucking idiot.” Calum’s laughing through his gasps now, desperately rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes to fucking push all the tears back in. “None of what you just said is true. Nobody’s gonna leave you, and you’re gonna figure out all your soulmate shit soon anyway.”

 

When Calum blinks back into reality, Ashton’s got a hand on his shoulder – _that_ shoulder – and a sympathetic look in his eyes. There’s a silent understanding when Calum shakes his head; Ashton knows him well enough to know that he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, that it shouldn’t be brought to their parents’ attention, or Mali’s for that matter.

 

They leave the bathroom seconds later, Ashton giving the family warning looks in front as Calum walks, eyes rimmed red, behind. The minute they sit, Calum diverts his focus on the tiramisu in front of him, practically devouring it in seconds. He knows everyone’s looking at him like some fragile little bitch; he doesn’t care, the tiramisu’s fucking delicious.

 

-

 

It takes another month for Ashton to announce that he’s ready for Calum to meet the mysterious soulmate. That’s a whole month of Calum having to pretend not to see Ashton sneak out at lunchtimes, a whole month of picking up his best friend’s shifts so he can go on dates, a whole month of subtly turning the volume on the TV up whenever Ashton fucking giggles at whatever soppy shit he’s being told via text. Calum’s over the whole being happy for him thing and, frankly, he’s fucking bored of not being in the know, so he’s nothing but thrilled when the day finally comes.

 

They’re meeting at the arcade on the pier, eleven-year-old Calum and Ashton’s favourite place in the world. Surprisingly, the infamous soulmate chose the destination, citing some weird reasons about “neutral ground” and having to keep his friend busy when they meet up. Ashton thinks it’s fucking adorable, goes into some long story about how perfect they are for each other and how he thinks that maybe there’s something deeper than a soulmate connection because _really_ they’re just so good for each other. Calum regrets coming.

 

The arcade’s quaint and old fashioned, in a way that all seaside amusements seem to be. It’s fairly full for a Tuesday afternoon; there’s a few families dotted about, an adorable elderly couple using the slot machines in the corner, a group of kids with ties hanging loose, probably skipping school and – shit. Calum was meant to be in socioeconomics fifteen minutes ago. Briefly, he considers ditching Ashton to make the last half an hour of class, then remembers the torturous amount of hours spent watching him on the phone to whoever Calum’s about to meet and immediately decides against it.

 

He finds himself stood before the old school Pac-Man machine that he loved as a kid. It’s seen some serious use since Calum was last in here, that much is obvious. The joystick’s all worn and squeaky, and he’s pretty sure the buttons on the left never used to stick that much, but it’s the perfect breath of nostalgia that Calum’s been needing for a while now, and he immerses himself in the simplicity of all.

 

Ten minutes later and he’s set the new high score four times over, because kids these days are shit and Calum spent a solid three years of his life perfecting his Pac-Man tactics so he’ll be damned if he lets some fucking part timer be on top. He registers that there’s people behind him, hears Ashton’s soft voice reassuring someone and then there’s a cough and he’s turning round to meet the most important person in _his_ most important person’s life.

 

“Calum, this is-“

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

Calum doesn’t really know what the fuck to do. He knows, definitely knows, that he shouldn’t have just said that, but that’s pretty much it for his knowledge of the situation. His mouth’s hanging open, completely awestruck and frankly he couldn’t give a shit. Because standing in front of him, holding hands with his best friend and beaming like a kid at Christmas – is Lanky fucking Luke.

 

Ashton looks like he’s about to faint, glancing between Calum’s face of disbelief and Lanky Luke’s complete obliviousness at break-neck speed. In the back of his mind, Calum feels horrible for ruining Ashton’s big moment, knows that in a few days or weeks or months he’ll feel immeasurable guilt about this horrible introduction to his best friend’s soulmate but right now it’s all he can do not to slap his head in his hands and sigh.

 

“Do you two know each other?” Ashton looks crestfallen, heartbroken even and Calum seems to remember seeing that particular look on him only once before, when nine-year-old Ashton’s school disco date Amelia Maslany decided she wanted to dance with Calum instead (Calum declined, because _obviously_ , and left early to get ice cream with Ashton). It hits Calum then how shitty that is, how ridiculously insecure Ashton is, that he honest to God is scared that his _literal soulmate_ might prefer Calum to him. He notices Lanky Luke looking equally concerned and knows that he needs to rectify his horrible best friend behaviour right this second. Apparently, Lanky Luke’s got the same idea.

 

“Yeah but-“

 

“No, I don’t know-“

 

And, honestly Calum’s about to deck Lanky Luke because now Ashton looks even _more_ worried but his stupid fucking soulmate has the most confused expression ever and Calum’s just in such a stupid situation he cannot believe it.

 

“I’ve seen you in the Leadmill,” Calum starts, and Ashton’s immediately less tense. “You’re Lanky Luke.”

 

“Lanky Luke…?” Calum thinks Lanky Luke’s kind of adorable actually, because he looks just slightly offended and Ashton’s watching him with heart eyes and it’s all a bit too much. Then there’s sudden recognition. “Wait! You’re Not-Lily?”

 

Calum’s chuckling before he even realises, then laughing, then practically rolling around in stitches. The situation has seemingly revealed itself to Lanky Luke, who’s just as amused and has let go of an increasingly confused Ashton’s hand in favour of wiping the tears of laughter away from his eyes. Ashton doesn’t look happy.

 

“Am I missing something?” He’s moved into his grumpy position; arms crossed in front of him and left foot tapping against the right. Ashton thinks it gives him authority, Calum thinks he looks like a petulant child. The pout really isn’t helping.

 

There’s a shared look between Calum and Lanky Luke then, and Calum decides he definitely won’t mention how he can already tell they’ll be great friends because that’s fucking weird and really he’s already made a bad enough impression.

 

“He goes to the Leadmill, A-“

 

“I’m fucking aware, Calum, he is my soulmate.” Ashton spits, and Calum’s seconds away from just walking over and slapping the bastard but then Lanky Luke’s got a hand on Ashton’s arm and there’s a brief moment of heart eyes and weird silent soulmate communication and Ashton sighs.

 

“Sorry. I just,” He sighs again. “I just wanted this to be perfect and, y’know, I feel out of the loop.”

 

It’s silent for a second; more fond touches between Ashton and Lanky Luke (and Calum’s _really_ got to drop the lanky thing now) whilst Calum just watches on. His head’s a nauseous blend of exhaustion and irritation but as he stands and observes his best friend and the reason for his happiness, there’s a sudden wave of jealousy overwhelming him. _He_ wants to be that comfortable with someone, to be able to tell them everything with just a look. It hits Calum not for the first time that day that he might never actually meet his soulmate.

 

Calum’s about to voice his compliments, about to tell Ashton how happy he is for him, when he’s interrupted. There’s an altogether too sudden crash and a yell from the other side of the arcade, hastily followed by a very loud, very familiar voice exclaiming “I didn’t _fucking_ do anything what the _fuck?!”_ and then Calum’s alone. Luke had sprinted, with a notable groan, in the direction of the noise the second it happened, Ashton quickly following with questions leaving his lips at a speed only Ashton fucking Irwin himself could manage. Calum’s still stood by the same Pac-Man machine when an extremely emotional young boy and his furious mother storm past, yelling about finding the manager’s office immediately or something. Calum’s confused, yeah, but really his minimal knowledge of what the fuck just happened is highly amusing, and he finds himself giggling as he sets off to find Ashton.

 

It turns out to be a fairly simple task; the mess of incoherent yelling he’s using as a compass leads him to a machine tucked right in the corner that he remembers never working properly whenever he came here as a kid. Ashton’s stood off to the side, fingers twiddling anxiously as he shuffles from foot to foot and watches the commotion in front of him. Calum kind of definitely feels bad for him, because this is not how today should have gone at all, but he’s having too much trouble trying not to laugh at the scene he’s met with to care that much about his concerned best friend.

 

Sat on the floor in front of the arcade machine is what Calum can only describe as the strangest sight he’s ever seen. There’s a mountain of yellow prize tickets, and Calum can vaguely make out Luke’s quiff within them, with eight lanky limbs writhing about underneath.

 

“You’re such a fucking _dick,_ why do you ruin everything?”

 

“Oh grow some balls, Lukey, I won fair and square this isn’t even my fault I swe-“

 

“He was like fucking ten! Jesus Christ, Michael, are you that stupid?”

 

The manager finds them like this when he eventually arrives; Luke and this Michael kid throwing insults and scrappy punches at each other in a heap on the floor, Ashton flinching whenever a flailing limb gets too close to his soulmate and Calum creased over laughing a metre away. It’s Calum who the manager addresses.

 

“What’s going on here?” His tie’s too tight against his neck and a sickly shade of cornflower blue that for some reason reminds Calum of Fight Club and how he really needs to watch that again soon (he makes a mental reminder to suggest it at Mali’s next sibling movie night). He looks like he fucking hates his life and his job and everyone who visits the arcade, but Calum can’t stop laughing long enough to care. When it’s clear that Calum’s not answering, stuck up manager guy just sighs and turns away.

 

Two minutes and several complaints later, they’re being escorted out by security, much to the horror of Ashton and Luke. Calum’s decided he likes this Michael guy – who, when he thinks about, he still hasn’t _actually_ seen, which is weird – because he’s clearly as amused as Calum is, going by the raucous laughter coming from the back of the line. Ashton and Luke are hand in hand at the front relentlessly apologizing to the security guy that obviously doesn’t give a shit, and Calum’s still just enjoying the spectacle from the middle.

 

“I can’t believe that just happened.” Ashton looks like he’s about to cry by the time they’re outside, which Calum thinks is all levels of pathetic but he’s definitely not about to say that when there’s already the potential for tears. He’d like to keep the possibility of an Ashton breakdown far away, thank you very much.

 

Luke and Ashton are too busy being Luke and Ashton to notice when it happens. Calum’s hovering over Mali’s number, debating whether to leave Ashton with his soulmate and go visit his sister or suggest a group trip to Pizza Plus because holy fuck is he starving, when he feels someone stand next to him. He’s preparing to face the wrath of an over-emotional Ashton when he looks up and- _oh._

 

Well, holy shit.

 

Calum’s sort of speechless, because he’s looking at who he can only assume is the mysterious Michael and he was really _not_ expecting this. This Michael is not the acne-ridden creepy nerd that Calum had fabricated in his head, no, this Michael is a 6ft 2 band-shirt wearing red-haired _god_. Calum’s pretty sure he’s drooling. He’s also pretty sure he doesn’t care.

 

“They’re cute, right?” And holy fucking salmon fishcakes. As if this ethereal beauty couldn’t be anymore overwhelming, _of course_ he’s got the hottest voice Calum’s ever heard. He thinks he’s gonna pass out. Or pop a boner. Either or, Calum’s severely fucked.

 

“Y-yeah, um, I mean…” There’s a quiet few seconds with Calum’s tongue flailing, desperately trying to say _fucking anything_ because really he looks like an absolute headcase right now but the flecks of gold against Michael’s soft emerald eyes are apparently enough to render him mute. Michael’s smirking, which wow, and this is really just not a great time for Calum. He briefly considers pretending to collapse, but Ashton’s witnessed that escape route far too many times for it to still be believable.

 

Speaking of Ashton, Calum’s pathetic attempts at keeping cool had apparently caught the lovestruck pair of pricks’ attention, because they’re watching Calum as he musters up the courage to talk now. Ashton’s sniggering and whispering something to Luke, who starts to cackle almost instantaneously, and Calum would honestly find Ashton’s reaction to said cackle adorable were it not for the fact that _he can’t fucking breathe or speak or-_

 

“So, what’re your plans now?” Michael breaks the awkward silence with that _stupidly_ hot voice of his, and Calum thanks God because his mouth is far too dry and there’s no way in hell he’d be able to form any kind of independent coherent thought. He can definitely answer a question, though.

 

“Pizza.”

 

Sure, it’s a one word answer, but it’s a start right? Oh who’s he kidding, Calum’s fucked. Utterly fucked like never before and Ashton’s sniggering so badly he’s never gonna hear the end of this.

 

“I mean,” Calum starts again, throwing a glare in Ashton’s direction in a hilariously unsuccessful attempt to silence the giggles. “I was thinking of going to Pizza Plus, if you-“

 

“Holy shit!” Michael’s eyes have completely lit up, green practically shimmering now and Calum’s trying really hard to keep from swooning. “I love Pizza Plus!”

 

“Wait, really?”

 

“Yeah!” Michael practically shouts, looking back at Luke who simply nods as if to confirm that yes he really does like Pizza Plus, as if something so trivial would be worth lying about. Luke rolls his eyes like this whole pizza enthusiasm thing happens often, which Calum finds adorable. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Michael. At this point, who the fuck cares? Calum thinks he might be in love. Maybe.

 

“Dude, I work there.” Calum answers, impressively calm might he add, and Michael honestly looks like he just heard the best news in the world. The excited smile has transcended to a truly elated grin, teeth taking up most of his face, and for a second Calum thinks he hears a little squeal, which, _cute_.

 

“I order all the fucking time, what the fuck?!” Michael’s shouting again, and a quick glance in Luke’s direction tells Calum that he’s definitely used to this bit too. Calum’s all of a sudden very interested in their friendship, if it’s as deep as his and Ashton’s – well, as deep as it could be in comparison. Calum’s yet to stumble upon a friendship even close to the fierce family vibe he and Ashton have got going on, which is fine by him. He sort of likes having something _that_ special with Ashton, even if he outwardly hates him ninety percent of the time.

 

It’s Calum’s interest in Michael and Luke’s friendship that distracts him from the point in hand. Once he’s finished analysing their relationship, it’s like time stops and everything sort of makes sense. Michael orders from Pizza Plus all the time. Michael has the most beautiful voice of all time.

 

Michael is anonymous hot phone voice guy.

 

“Wha-“

 

“ _WHAT?!”_

Did Calum just say that out loud?

 

“Who’s anonymous hot phone voice guy?”

 

So Calum just said that out loud. Michael and Luke are both eyeing Calum with complete confusion, and admittedly Calum wants the ground to swallow him up – but that’s not what catches his attention. Ashton’s eyes are the widest they’ve ever been (Calum’s exaggerating, obviously), flitting between Calum and recently-revealed-anonymous-hot-phone-voice-guy Michael as if he’d just announced they were having a baby. And really, this whole over dramatic shtick Ashton’s got going on is getting a little bit boring. Yeah, Calum didn’t shut up about how hot that voice was for, like, a month – but it’s not _that_ big of a deal.

 

“Is anyone gonna answer me?” Luke whines, and Ashton kind of just blindly grabs his hand and squeezes. “Who’s anonymous hot phone voice guy?”

 

“Me, apparently.” Michael sounds altogether less concerned and a lot more smug now, and God damn if that smirk wasn’t so fucking attractive Calum would be scowling. But it is, attractive that is, so Calum settles for staring blankly at him.

 

“Um,” Calum glances between Michael and Ashton, trying (and failing) to judge what the fuck to say right now. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

 

Michael just chuckles, breaking eye contact in favour of studying his shoes and – is he _blushing_? Call him preemptive, but in the short time Calum’s become acquainted with the boy he did _not_ take him for a blusher. Of course Calum finds it adorable, because it’s Michael.

 

“Is it him? From that night?” Ashton interrupts the fond looks Calum’s sure he’s sending Michael’s way by standing between the pair and meeting Calum’s eyes curiously.

 

“Uh, yeah.”

 

“Interesting.”

 

For a second, Calum’s convinced Ashton is going to whip out a journal and start taking notes. He’s staring right at Calum, very uncomfortably might he add, with his head cocked to one side and two fingers tapping against his chin like he’s observing an equation rather than his best friend. A quick glance to the side tells Calum that both Luke and Michael are as confused as he is, which, like, thank _God_ because he genuinely thought he was losing it then.

 

Ashton steps back to Luke’s side just as quickly as he stepped away, expression now relatively neutral. To anyone else it would appear that he’d completely dropped the subject, but Calum isn’t anyone else and that glint in Ashton’s eye leaves an all too queasy feeling in Calum’s stomach. Fucking Ashton and his fucking weird behaviour.

 

“So…” Luke breaks the silence, after retaking Ashton’s hand _of course_. “Pizza Plus then?”

 

“Yep!” Calum breathes in relief, mentally thanking Luke a million times for the escape from both Ashton’s knowing look and the awkward silence that was bound to fall over the group.

 

“Man, I’d love to but,” Michael sighs, checking his non-existent watch before looking over to the bus stop on the other side of the road, “I’ve got to be on the next bus to make it in time for Mils.”

 

Mils? Who the fuck is Mils? That sounds like a girls’ name, and Calum’s struck very suddenly with the shattering realisation that anonymous hot phone voice guy/ethereal beauty/Michael is most likely straight.

 

“Mils?” Calum’s all too aware that the word comes out more like a squeak, but he can’t find it in himself to care when Michael’s too caught up in glancing at the bus stop to even recognise that it was a question. Calum’s heartbroken – well, as much as you can be when you’ve only known the guy for like twenty minutes.

 

“Milly.” Luke answers for him, “She’s his neighbour. He walks her home from school on Tuesdays.”

 

 _Oh._ Well. Calum feels fucking ridiculous.

 

“Cute.” It’s a mumble at best; Calum’s happy he managed to say something rather than just slap himself for his own stupidity.

 

“Yeah, man, she’s the best.” Michael’s back in the metaphorical room of conversation apparently, grinning ear to ear as he speaks. “I can’t believe she’s eight next week, like, I remember her being born.”

 

And, well, Calum is definitely going to hell. He’s deliberating running into the road and hoping for death, because he seriously doesn’t think he can continue living with the knowledge that he was so fucking jealous of a _literal seven year old_. This is surely the pinnacle of his pathetic existence.

 

“Not even eight and she can hand your arse back to you on Mario Kart.” Luke shouts from the side, hiding behind Ashton almost instinctively as he does so. Calum can’t decide what’s cuter: the little lovestruck smile Ashton’s shooting over his shoulder at his giggling soulmate, or how amazingly red Michael’s cheeks have turned. The half embarrassed, half irritated look in Michael’s eye has Calum thinking about his and Luke’s friendship again, because this whole teasing Michael thing seems to be the foundation of their relationship, and Calum’s equal parts endeared and defensive.

 

Wait.

 

Defensive?

 

Not defensive. Calum’s definitely not weird enough to be defensive over a guy he has literally just met and knows very little about. This sudden desire to vocalise how much more annoying Luke is than Michael definitely does not stem from a wish to defend the red-haired boy beside him. Definitely not.

 

Except Michael’s still embarrassed and when he mumbles something about having a bad day, Calum’s desire to shout at Luke turns into a _need_. It’s almost laughable, he thinks, how he’s got a million pointless insults ready to go that will upset both Luke and Ashton and probably Michael in the process, because being a dick is just Calum’s reflex in situations like this. The sparkle of shame that remains in Michael’s eyes is really making that difficult though.

 

“You’re probably still better than me, if that’s any consolation.” It comes out as one long breath, so Calum’s not all too surprised when Michael just looks confused. “At Mario Kart? And all games, I guess. I suck.”

 

Michael smiles at that. Like, a genuine smile with feelings and shit and his eyes light up a bit even though he’s still blushing like crazy. Calum decides that’s worth the look he just _knows_ Ashton’s sending his way right now. (Ashton likes to call it their “Best Friend Bro Sixth Sense.” Calum likes to call it fucking annoying).

 

“Maybe we should test that some time.” The red head winks. Literally fucking winks, and Calum’s seconds away from having heart palpitations when he drops his gaze. “I’ve really got to go now anyway. It was nice meeting you, Ashton and…”

 

“Calum!” Calum practically screams his name, because he can’t quite believe he’d failed to mention it at this point. Who spends this long staring at someone without telling them their name? Like, come the fuck on Calum.

 

“Cute name. Text me later, Lukey?”

 

Luke rolls his eyes fondly, presumably at the nickname, then nods Michael’s way, and Calum’s already turning round to walk towards Pizza Plus when he gets tugged back. He squeaks out this embarrassing whine of surprise and protest, assuming that Ashton’s about to explain whatever the fuck he was thinking back during the anonymous hot phone voice guy revelation, but then there’s two arms around him and a body squeezed against his that smells just a bit like smoke but mostly fading aftershave and candyfloss. Calum briefly registers that this is exactly how he imagines a carnival date to feel like; shitty cologne and warm strangers’ bodies and the overwhelming scent of sugar.

 

Then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Calum’s left confused, jaw hanging open once more, and watching Michael pull his arms away to casually meander across the road to the bus stop.

 

And that was weird, because Calum usually can’t stand people he’s just met being over friendly, but something about hugging Michael just felt _right._ Probably just because he’s hot as fuck, Calum guesses. Nothing too unusual.

 

-

 

Nothing too unusual becomes something very fucking unusual half an hour later.

 

They’re in Pizza Plus, obviously, and Calum feels like he’s floating on air, as he often does when devouring a large Texas Honey BBQ with extra crispy onions. Ashton’s telling his favourite story about how nine year old Calum once stupidly believed he’d turn into an onion if he had more than one hot dog at the school disco, and Calum’s laughing like a lunatic even though he’s heard it countless times and, y’know, he was there. Luke and Ashton keep talking over the top of each other and Calum can’t help but find it ridiculously cute how they both immediately stop and giggle before each _insisting_ the other continues. Calum momentarily realises just how content he is right now; he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. He doesn’t think he could ask for more than a giggling best friend, said best friend’s infatuated soulmate and a piping hot pizza.

 

Calum feels his heart warming as he smiles at the scene in front of him. Like, literally he can feel his chest getting warmer and his skin’s started tingling a bit, which is just slightly worrying. He starts panicking then – distant memories of first aid lessons in high school and symptoms of heart attacks coming to mind – and suddenly he’s not smiling at all and he needs some ice or water or an ambulance _right fucking now_.

 

“A-Ash,” He sort of feels like he’s hyperventilating, because his chest hasn’t felt this weird since he collapsed three years ago and he definitely does not want to go through that shit again. “Ash, s-something’s wrong.”

 

Ashton, to his credit, immediately jumps out from behind the table, spilling all three drinks and pushing Luke’s pizza to the floor as he does so, but whatever. The pain’s dispersing now, spreading up and over Calum’s shoulders until his entire upper body is tingling and he feels too nauseous to keep his eyes open. Ashton’s definitely saying something, but Calum can’t figure out if he should be responding due to every single part of his brain trying to focus on not collapsing in the middle of his fucking workplace.

 

“Just tell me where… and I’ll send Luke… or some water?” Ashton’s requests are coming through like whispers, and Calum’s briefly really proud of his best friend for not completely freaking out like usual. Ashton’s using his older brother voice, and the determined look on his face when Calum sneaks a risky glance makes the situation a whole lot more bearable.

 

There’s a sudden pressure on Calum’s chest, quickly revealed to be Ashton prodding around to try and find the source of his panic, then it sort of feels like the world ends. There’s a sharp stab of pain to Calum’s shoulder, blinding white flashing beneath his eyelids – then nothing. The numbness, the tingling, the warmth, the pain. Everything’s very suddenly gone, and Calum’s blinking back into reality to find a very nervous Ashton poking the skin near his shoulder.

 

“You’re right, it does feel a little bit warm there. Ask Kyle to bring some ice over, no Luke the ginger one at the counter, yeah him, and I’ll ring Mali to –“

 

“Ash.”

 

“ – come get us and hopefully she’ll drop you off on the way, I don’t want to force you to stay Lukey, he gets a bit stressed when –“

 

“Ashton?”

 

“ – he’s in pain, I think it’s a masculinity thing I’m not entirely su-“

 

“ _Ashton!”_

“Oh shit,” Ashton looks up, fucking finally, from his intense stare at Calum’s shoulder. “Are you okay? Can you see me? Are you still in pain?”

 

“I’m fine,” Calum winces, instinctively bringing a hand to his shoulder when it throbs as he moves. It’s weird, Calum thinks as he soothingly rubs over his shirt, he’s always had problems with spraining bones and dislocating joints during football training, but he’s never had a problem with his shoulders until –

 

“Oh my _fucking_ god.”

 

“Calum?” Ashton’s panicking again, “You okay?”

 

“Do you think it’s…?” Calum points dramatically to his shoulder, lip tucked securely between his teeth. The look on Ashton’s face is already telling him exactly what he doesn’t want to hear.

 

“I don’t see what else it could be, Cal.”

 

And that’s just it, isn’t it. They’re both silent; Calum mindlessly tracing circles on his shoulder whilst Ashton watches on sympathetically. Calum’s deliberating his next move when a cough from above interrupts them. Luke’s watching the scene warily, one hand scratching his neck and the other holding a plastic cup.

 

“Uh… I got ice?”

 

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then all three boys start to chuckle, then giggle, then full on belly laugh from with every breath in their body right in the middle of Pizza Plus. Calum’s positive he’s losing he’s mind, and he can only imagine what the three of them look like to everyone else in the place, but for once he doesn’t care. He’ll take all the laughter he can get right now.

 

Ashton’s the first to break back into reality, sighing as he wipes his eyes and stands up from the precarious position he’d been knelt in during the whole thing. Luke’s quick to check if he’s okay between laughs, and Ashton responds with an insufferably adorable look before he’s dragging Calum to the staff room that they’re definitely not allowed to be in because they’re not even on shift and really Calum thinks Ashton should know better than to think they’ll get away with it.

 

“Take it off then.”

 

Well then.

 

“What?”

 

“Your shirt. Off.”

 

“Ashton, Luke’s literally five metres away…”

 

“Oh, shut the fuck up Calum,” Ashton rolls his eyes at Calum’s smirk. “Take off your shirt.”

 

Calum does, because there’s no way he’s getting out of this, but he does so with a sigh. The second it’s off, he’s back to tracing over his shoulder anxiously, watching as Ashton sidesteps for a better view. It only takes a second of mumbling before he’s back in front of Calum, smiling the kind of smile that only means one thing. Fuck.

 

“Knew it.” Well at least Ashton’s happy, Calum thinks, because he can’t figure out how to feel for the life of him. He’s pretty sure the only people he’s touched today are Ashton and Luke, and they’re definitely not his soulmate. Calum’s pretty fucking sick of the whole thing, in all honestly.

 

“Fucking great. So I met my soulmate _again_ , and we still have no fucking clue who it is. Fucking excellent.”

 

Ashton’s face falls. That’s not good news.

 

“Wait,” Ashton pauses, studying Calum carefully. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yes, I’m fucking serious. I’m sick of it, Ash.” Calum’s really not in the mood for Ashton being a cryptic bastard, and he’s seconds away from leaving when the curly haired boy talks again.

 

“We do know who it is.”

 

What?

 

“What?”

 

_What?_

“No we don’t.” Calum insists, “I haven’t seen anyone today who I’ve possibly seen before three times.”

 

“Hear me out, okay?” Ashton looks genuinely excited, and Calum’s battling whether he should be horribly nervous or not. “So, we know you got your first mark after the night at the Leadmill, yeah?”

 

“Well, yeah, but half the teenage population of Sydney was there that night.”

 

“So that’s no help to us, no. But there can’t have been more than, what, fifty people at that house party that night? And I happen to know at least five people who were in attendance.”

 

“Wait, really?” Calum’s skeptical, and rightly so because Ashton never thought to indulge _that_ particular piece of vital information.

 

“Yeah, there was Luke-“

 

“Your soulmate, Ashton.”

 

“Yes, I’m aware, Calum if you would shut the fuck up I know it wasn’t Luke. But Juliet was the-“

 

“I never even saw her that night!”

 

“Oh my god, shut up Cal. There was Luke, Juliet, Adam Walton from Chemistry in high school, Bailey the gymnast and-“

 

“ _Ashton_ ,” Calum breathes in defeat. “That’s great and all but I haven’t seen any of those people today, minus Luke.”

 

Ashton smirks then, and Calum instantaneously knows he’s fucked because Ashton only ever smirks when something big is happening. Or he’s about to get laid, but Calum doesn’t think he’s about to leave this conversation for a quickie with Luke.

 

“You haven’t figured it out?”

 

“Figured out _what?_ ” Calum sighs, “Ashton this whole cryptic thing is really pissing me off.”

 

“Whose house do you think it was?”

 

“Fuck knows. That group never has parties at the same place every time.”

 

“Yeah, and the owner of the house always orders the pizza, Cal.”

 

“Oh, _great_.” Calum rolls his eyes at Ashton’s stupidity. “So all we have to do is figure out a name for anonymous hot pho-“

 

Holy shit.

 

Holy fucking shit.

 

This can’t be happening. No fucking way. Calum’s fucking stupid and amazed and blown away because this _cannot be happening_.

 

“Michael’s my fucking soulmate.”

 

**\- 4 -**

 

The beach nearest Calum’s house is desolate. Grains of sand are outnumbered by cigarette butts and ring-pulls, like permanent polluting reminders of teenage rebellion, and the water is stagnant and cold where it’s been inadvertently dammed in by a variety of boulders and boats and things littering the seabed. It’s more of a wasteland than a beach, ignored by the majority of the city’s population in its dilapidated state – and Calum loves it.

 

It’s where he is now, sat cross-legged in a circle kicked free of cans and replaced by his own half empty bottle of Jack and pack of Camels. The tide’s coming in, and Calum’s sat close enough to feel threatened by the incoming waves, but not enough to muster up the effort and move. Over the scent of his own cigarette, there’s a lingering reek of oil and something that much sinister, but Calum’s here to relax, and there’s no fucking way something like that is going to ruin his one last place of peace, and so he does what only Calum does best – he pays it not attention, and thus does not care.

 

It’s about seven in the evening, maybe. The sun’s just started setting as a gentle reminder that Calum’s definitely been out here way too long, and he instinctively goes to grab his phone to call Ashton for a ride. He doesn’t though, not because Ashton refused, but because Calum’s left his phone in his backpack about a mile further down the beach, under the bench as always. He knows his mum would kill him for not having a constant eye on it on such a shady beach, but it’s been tradition for six years and Calum’s had more than enough change of tradition recently. The beach is for Calum, his alcohol and his cigs only.

 

Except, it isn’t today. Just as Calum’s taking his last drag and thinking about moving, he hears the unmistakable dull _clang_ of cans being kicked. It’s weird, of course it is, because Calum’s never come across anyone on this beach before, and he’s never told anyone he comes here so it must be some junkie or a few teenagers looking for an adventure. He doesn’t think to look.

 

So, obviously, it comes as quite a surprise when only seconds later, someone sits next to him and a familiar hand reaches to grab Calum’s bottle of Jack. Calum knows who it is before he even looks, could recognise the aftershave anywhere probably, but recognises the immediate sense of relief he feels even faster than that.

 

“How did you know I was here?”

 

Ashton laughs quietly beside him, taking the tiniest swig of Jack before returning the bottle to its rightful position nestled between Calum’s legs. Calum knows Ashton never intended to drink that much, knows he only took the bottle to catch his attention rather than having to speak. He knows Ashton too well.

 

“I always know you’re here.” Ashton smiles.

 

And that. Well, that intrigues Calum, because always would suggest Ashton’s known about Calum’s hiding spot for six years. Always would suggest Ashton’s watched him come to this beach and cry, laugh, smile, shout to himself whenever things got too much even when Ashton needed him to be perfectly okay.

 

“I’m sorry.” Calum whispers into the sand, stubbing his cigarette and immediately pulling out another in anticipation for the conversation he knows he’s about to have.

 

“Don’t be.” Ashton’s a saint, as always, and slides his arm across Calum’s shoulder, purposely tapping _that_ particular shoulder just a couple of times. Calum sighs, and Ashton smiles sadly at him because both of them know that neither of them want to have this conversation, but they both equally know that they need it. They need it so desperately that it’s painful, sickening to even think about finally vocalising what’s been tearing them apart. Tearing them _both_ apart.

 

“You’ve come here a lot this past month.”

 

And, there it is. Calum knows it’s the truth, because the beach is the only place he’s managed to leave his room for. It’s been a month since it happened, a month of skipping class and missing shifts and ignoring calls. A month of staying in bed all day and ordering pizza – from Pizza Central, because fuck ever going near Pizza Plus again – and only leaving the house to buy cigarettes to smoke on the beach.

 

“Lily rang mum. Told her that you’ve not been going to socioeconomics and you’re not picking up your phone, told her that she was worried about you.”

 

Calum smiles, oddly enough. It’s comforting to know that someone noticed, that someone would notice if he just stopped existing in society forever. Regardless of how causal their friendship is, Calum thinks he might owe Lily a lot.

 

“I told her you quit Pizza Plus.” Ashton whispers.

 

The world seems to stop for a second then. Calum’s stomach drops, along with his jaw, and he slowly turns to Ashton with a look of absolute betrayal surely etched into his face.

 

“You told mum?” He can barely speak, more coughs the words out, cigarette hanging limply between his fingers half way to his mouth. “Why did you do that?”

 

“She asked.” The look of guilt and sympathy and pity on Ashton’s face is unbearable, so Calum stares at the ground and shoves his cigarette harshly between his teeth to keep from saying anything stupid. Ashton continues. “She came to the shop Saturday night. You were here, I was there. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.” Calum grinds his teeth together, registering too late that he’s torn through the cigarette. Ashton watches on in silence as he rips it from his mouth and tosses it away, hands raking through his hair in frustration. He’s losing his mind, surely, because the only thing keeping him sane right now is the thought of more smokes and another shot and even that prospect is looking less exciting with Ashton sat beside him.

 

“Why’d you come here so much?” Ashton’s squinting as he talks, sneaking a hand back round the bottle of Jack and pulling it towards him. Calum’s not watching but he just _knows_ that bottle is now being emptied out into the sand, which, fuck Ashton, because that shit is expensive and in case nobody’s been paying attention Calum happens to be unemployed at the moment.

 

“It’s the only place I can think, Ash.” Calum surprises himself by being entirely honest, “and I’ve had a lot to think about lately.”

 

“It’s been a month.”

 

“You think I don’t fucking know that?”

 

“He asks about you, y’know.” Ashton says and stands, moving to kick some more cans and landing right in front of Calum, his eyes holding him in place.

 

“Michael?”

 

“Yeah.” Calum looks up then, head battling whether to be pleased or distraught. There’s a tug in his heart, probably some inner soulmate mechanism telling him to feel guilty about the whole situation, but the constant numb ache in his stomach pulls him back down.

 

“He liked you. At the arcade? Yeah, he really liked you. Keeps asking Luke why you haven’t hung out with us since, keeps blaming himself for you being too _busy_ or whatever shit excuse I give.” Ashton laughs, but Calum knows him well enough to hear the pain behind it. “Michael thinks he creeped you out. He thinks the reason you don’t do anything with us is because he came on too strong.”

 

“That’s fucking ridiculous.” Calum finds himself laughing that same horrible laugh, tears catching at the back of his throat and making his words sound more like sobs. He knows he’s about to break down, knows Ashton knows that too, but can’t quite find it in himself to care.

 

“I know.”

 

Then there’s a second of silence. Calum’s given up, letting the tears fall freely down his cheeks, not even bothering to wipe them away before they land on his lips or his legs or the sand beneath him. It’s as if this one conversation has burnt all the shitty wooden fences he was building to corral in all his problems, as if Ashton’s driven straight into his mind with a wrecking ball and destroyed every wall he’d constructed to hide any thought of _Michael_ or _soulmates_ or _love._

 

Wait, love?

 

And, that’s just it. Calum collapses, head falling to his knees, and sobs. He sobs and cries and the noises that tear from his throat are ugly and broken, but so is he, so really who gives a fuck? He looks up, blinking away the pools of self-loathing that have formed under his eyelids, straight into Ashton’s worried stare.

 

“I don’t know what to do, Ash.”

 

“I know.” He doesn’t say anything more or anything less, but it’s exactly the right thing to say, because it’s _Ashton_ and Ashton always knows what to say. Instead of words, he shuffles round again, wraps an arm around Calum and lets him fall into his grip.

 

They sit like that, rocking back and forth both whispering nonsense, for a while. It’s dark by the time Calum stops crying, dark by the time Ashton lets out his solitary tear, dark by the time they’re both stood and staring into each other’s eyes. Calum sighs.

 

“I need to talk to him, right?”

 

“You need to do what you think you need to do.” Ashton, dramatic as ever, simply pats his shoulder, turns and walks away. “Come on, my car’s in the car park.”

 

For a second, Calum just stands. He stands on his beach, staring into the ocean and listening to Ashton’s footsteps as they hit plastic and tin. The water is loud, violent rather than peaceful, and the stink of oil and what seems a lot like rotting flesh is overpowering in Calum’s nose. He looks around; the beach is littered, dirty and decrepit and the water around it is murky and dull. For the first time, the beach appears as it is to Calum – a wasteland.

 

And he needs to find peace elsewhere.

 

-

 

There a few things Calum is unrelentingly sure of when it comes to his family. The first, is that his mum’s go-to technique for coaxing information out of him is to make him a cheese toastie. The second, that his dad will only ever come into his room if it’s an emergency, and that very little counts as an emergency (read: _nothing_ counts as an emergency).

 

The third and final thing that Calum is sure of is that Mali-Koa Hood and Ashton Irwin are simultaneously the best and worst siblings he could ever have asked for.

 

It goes like this, see. Calum’s minding his own business, lazing away in his room like always, when there’s a hesitant knock on the door that sounds a lot like Ashton when he needs to borrow something.

 

“What is it, Ash?”

 

Silence.

 

“Ash?”

 

More silence.

 

Calum sighs. Ever since their conversation at the beach, Ashton’s tried to coax him out of his room with a different method every day. Apparently, after bribery, manhandling and crying were unsuccessful, Ashton has taken to being polite. Calum thinks he’s a fucking idiot, but he stands up to answer the door anyway.

 

Which, as it turns out, is his first and biggest mistake.

 

“Ash, what do you w-“

 

The second the door’s open, two hands grab Calum’s shoulders and he’s pulled away, face slamming into the chest of someone who is suspiciously not Ashton. He shouts, muffled by the jumper his face is pressed into, and feels another two hands grabbing his ankles.

 

“You got him?”

 

And, Calum knows he’s the stupidest person alive, because _of course_ Ashton’s coerced Mali into helping him, and _of course_ she knows what this is all about. Honestly, he’s got the worst siblings ever.

 

All of a sudden, he’s being lifted off the ground, and this is genuinely the most ridiculous thing that has ever happened to him, because he can see Mali grinning like a mad-woman above his head and Ashton struggling to carry his weight by his legs, and then he’s being carried straight out of the door and into Mali’s car. It takes him until he’s strapped in the back seat to formulate a sentence.

 

“What the _fuck_ is going on?”

 

Mali turns to Ashton, who then turns to look out the window with a horribly guilty expression on his face, which doesn’t surprise Calum really. He knew this meticulously planned escapade wouldn’t be of Ashton’s design.

 

“You’ve got someone to talk to.” Mali turns her head to the back seat, the same insane grin etched onto her face. “We’re taking you to him.”

 

“You’re fucking kidding.”

 

She’s fucking kidding, right?

 

“Ashton, is she fucking kidding?”

 

“No?” It’s more of a squeak than an answer, what with the majority of Ashton’s face pressed firmly against the window, but Calum hears it nonetheless. He barely has time to complain, when his head’s being forced against the headrest as the car takes off at a speed that surely isn’t safe on such a winding road.

 

“Mali, what the fuck?!” Calum’s about to undo his belt and leap out the car whilst in motion, in all honestly. He knows where they’re taking him, knows that he’s going to be there in a matter of minutes and that both of his _fucking stupid idiot_ siblings are too stubborn to even think about letting him go. Mali catches his eyes in the mirror. At the sight of his panicked expression, her grin falters, and then there’s suddenly the caring older sister look in her eyes.

 

“Look, Cal.” The car slows dramatically as she turns, maintain eye contact the whole time, which, _wow_ that is dangerous. “I’ve never seen you this bad, and it scares me. Soulmates aren’t meant to ruin your life, y’know? From what Ashton’s told me, this kid’s great and should definitely not be the reason for you locking yourself up in your room for a month.”

 

Calum’s silent at that, and Ashton turns around in his seat to talk.

 

“You didn’t even do anything for your birthday, Calum.” His voice cracks as he speaks, and Calum breaks eye contact for fear of wimping out of this whole thing. “You barely smiled the whole day, and when you did it wasn’t special or anything. You need to do this.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I know you don’t want to bu- wait.” Ashton splutters, and Mali swerves a little bit in an attempt to stare at her brother in the mirror. “You know?!”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Calum can’t help but roll his eyes at the two idiots he calls his family. “I’m not stupid; I know I need to sort this out. And I’ll do it. I think I’m ready.”

 

Ashton smiles then. Not the pained smile Calum’s being seeing so much of lately, but a real smile, that lights up his whole face and softens his eyes and it’s the happiest Calum’s seen him in a whole month. For a second, he’s overwhelmed by the guilt and realisation that Calum’s complete depressive state had such an impact on his best friend and his sister, then the car’s pulling to a stop and all he can do is stare out the window.

 

“Well it’s a good job you’re ready,” Mali smiles through the mirror. “Because we’re here.”

 

-

 

One panic attack, three motivational slaps to the face and twenty minutes later, Calum’s stood outside the car and staring up the familiar driveway. His hands are shaking and he’s pretty sure he’s sweating but determination is at the forefront of his mind and truth be told he’d rather fucking die than get back in that car with Mali and tell her he couldn’t do it. He’s felt the wrath of his sister before and, never again.

 

As he’s walking up the drive, significantly slower than usual as expected, Calum’s mind wanders back to the last time he’d made this journey, nearly eight months ago, last July. He laughs to himself for a second, amused at the tedious parallels between the nerves he felt then and the nerves he feels now, before he realises how much of a fucking weirdo he must look practically crawling up this near stranger’s drive and laughing to himself. He shakes his head, cursing to himself, and speeds up until he’s basically jogging to the door.

 

And then he’s there. And he’s one knock away from one of the most important moments of his whole life, and he’s suddenly very overwhelmed by the fact that he’s more than likely going to spend the rest of the days with the boy behind this door. He’s overwhelmed at the thought of going on dates with Michael, of waking up with Michael, of marrying Michael, of maybe having a family with Michael, of knowing every little detail and every annoying habit and pet peeve of a boy he’s met once.

 

Calum’s completely overwhelmed by the fact that he’s completely comfortable with the idea of falling completely in love with Michael.

 

And, that. That’s scary, and his fist suddenly feels very heavy and there’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to raise it to knock on the door, and if he can’t fucking knock on his soulmate’s door than he definitely can’t tell him he’s his soulmate, and he definitely can’t spend the rest of his life with a person he can’t even talk to openly and-

 

The door opens.

 

“Calum?”

 

Wow.

 

_Wow._

The world stops turning, just for a moment. There’s complete silence; every noise on earth has subsided just for this one moment. Like nature has taken a break, just ever so briefly for Calum’s sake, to allow him to fully comprehend this one moment.

 

He couldn’t describe it, not with any word in any language in any age. It’s more than fireworks, more than coming home, more than ice water on a hot day, more than clean bed sheets, more than a hurricane. It’s a natural disaster with such beautiful consequences, such breathtaking results that it’s a miracle.

 

Calum looks into Michael’s eyes, and there’s an emerald and gold universe that Calum wants to fall into and just exist in. Calum looks at Michael with the word soulmate branded on his tongue, and it’s like every feature of Michael is accentuated and explodes, like a symphony of perfection hitting Calum like a tidal wave. It’s synesthesia. It’s wabi-sabi. It’s dépaysement. It’s ya’aburnee. It’s yakamoz.

 

It’s falling in love, and Calum wants to drown in it.

 

And then, Calum notices everything, all at once, like someone opening their eyes for the very first time. He sees Michael’s red lips that leave a taste of cherry on Calum’s tongue even from this distance, he sees the stubble gracing his chin that has Calum rubbing his fingertips together like they’re already dancing over it.

 

Most importantly, he sees Michael’s hair. He sees the purples and the blues and the stark white that lines his neck. He sees a galaxy, another beauty to join the eyes he’s staring into, he sees ethereal goodness and he’s drawn to it like no other. He sees the colours, and muses how beautifully they would look intertwined with those already on his shoulder, and suddenly everything falls into place.

 

The changing colours of Calum’s moon. The changing colours of Michael’s hair. Michael is Calum’s own ever-changing, ever beautiful celestial soulmate, and he needs him.

 

Calum surges forward, and time begins again, and then there’s no space between himself and Michael. Calum still can’t breathe, won’t breathe until he’s sure, but he’s lifting his hands and his fingertips are shaking and everything is still. Time is ticking yet everything is frozen except for Calum’s hand as it rises.

 

If he had to describe it, he’d call it a masterpiece. The feel of dry skin underneath his fingertip, the tan of his hand against the pale of Michael’s cheek. There’s a second, a horrible gut-wrenching uncomfortable second of nothing, then Calum relaxes his hand and tingles shoot up his arm, and suddenly he’s smiling with tears on his cheeks, and Michael’s expression twists into something of pain then confusion then realisation. He reaches his own hand to his shoulder, looks into Calum’s eyes for confirmation, and when Calum nods, he smiles.

 

“You.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They stay like that; staring into each other’s eyes, exploring each other’s worlds in silence for a moment, then Michael looks to his shoulder. There’s a crescent moon, dark chestnut with flecks of lighter hazelnut, and Calum finds himself staring into his own galaxy, painted onto pale white and looking so damn celestial it hurts his heart.

 

There’s a moment, another of these life-changing breath-taking moments, then Calum’s leaning in.

 

Two bodies collide, and he tastes cherry on his tongue, stubble beneath his fingers, warmth against his lips.

 

Two galaxies collide, and he feels whole.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! 
> 
> For those of you who are bothered: I'm currently deliberating between starting two chaptered fics (both Malum):  
> 1\. Hotel hopper!Michael and Receptionist/Room service boy!Calum based on 'Another Song About The Weekend' by ADTR in which Michael's homeless but finds home in Calum.  
> 2\. 1950s!Malum centred on racial segregation, in which Michael falls for Flower child!Calum but they can't be together. (Teaser on my page entitled forever strong as a pine tree)
> 
> Which would you prefer to read first? Let me know if you care in the comments.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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